£ibvant of (!! ongrciss.^. 

t&cfrt^At^M. IPS 7 

DNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS, 



iA» ROSA VERTjfER JOHNSON 




BOSTON: 
TIOKNOR AND FIELDS. 

M DCCC LVII. 






\*5*A 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

CLAUDE M. JOHNSON, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



<AM a r. i I) »■ E : 

ELECTR0T1TED AND l'RINTKD I1V METl'AI.F AND COMPART. 



3% S**r J^flpM JJannts 

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, 

AS A SLIGHT TRIBUTE OF LOVE, 

Bf THEIR 

AFFECTIONATE DAUGHTER, 

ROSA. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

ONE SUMMER NIGHT 1 

THE SUNSET CITY 5 

THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE 9 

MT CHILDHOOD'S HOME 15 

ANGEL WATCHERS 20 

HOPES AND FEARS 23 

A LEGEND OF THE ALPS 27 

THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM 39 

I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW . . . .48 

" JESUS WEPT ".......- 53 

THE FIRST ECLIPSE 57 

I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL ...... 67 

THE MOUNTAIN STORM 73 

TWO YEARS OLD 79 

MEMORIES 83 

WHY ART THOU SAD 1 87 

A LEGEND OF THE OPAL 91 

NIAGARA 96 

THE SPIRIT-BIRD 100 



O, TAKE MB OX THE WATER ! 104 

THE REMEMBERED NAME 109 

TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER 113 

THE SIGNAL GUN 116 

belshazzar's FEAST 121 

LINES TO A BRIDE 127 

A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR 130 

VISIONS OF THE DEEP 136 

TWO DREAMS 142 

I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE 148 

MORNING 131 

THE PORTRAIT 154 

I WANDERED FORTH 158 

A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY 163 

THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER 167 

THE PLAGUE .171 

THE WOUNDED EAGLE 177 

- I MEMORY 1S1 

THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS 185 

THERE'S A BREEZE BLOWING OYER IHE MOINTA1N 189 

LINES TO A FRIEND 192 

AN OLD man's MUSINGS 197 

WHO MADE THE MOON? 204 

FAREWELL '- ' 

ami u:r CHOI GONE? 210 

i in: BURNING BHIP 214 

•mum .;ii i- <>r i in. i-a-i 221 

w ii \r l- ii B 181 BE '. -"-'I 

\ DREAM OF HEAVEN 

i hi: H i i HER1 D DUD 



CONTENTS. VII 

the child's prayer 236 

A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR 238 

TO MY MOTHER 242 

GO DREAM OP ME 247 

"THE HARP THAT ONCE " ON ERIN'S SHORE . . 251 

THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME 254 

THE DEATH OP WEBSTER ...... 256 

RAPTUROUS MOMENTS 260 

TO LOU 263 

THE CHILD'S DREAM 267 

WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER 270 

THE CLOSING YEAR . '' 275 

LINES ADDRESSED TO MY ABSENT MOTHER . . 280 

NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII . . 284 

THE FROZEN SHIP 302 



ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 



One summer night I stood with thee, 

Beneath a full, unclouded moon : 
My young heart then was wild with glee, 
And basked in pleasure's golden noon ; 
My dark hair fell in waving showers 
. Upon my neck and o'er my brow, 
All gem' d with pearls and wreath' d with flowers ; 
Their fragrance seems around me now. 

A rose-bud from my bosom fell, 

As thus beneath the moon we stood ; 

And thou — ah ! I remember well — 

Didst raise and kiss the unconscious bud. 
1 



2 ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 

But not unconscious was the heart 
For ever thine, — for ever true ; 

And in that hour the wish would start 
That I had been a ruse-hud too. 

I longed to save it free from Might, 

I longed to keep that careless kiss, 
And oh ! I wished that summer night, 

With all its brightness and its bliss, 
Could last for ever ; — 't was no crime, 

When all the moments fled so fast, 
That I should wish to fetter time, 

And live them over as they passed. 

But thou didst break the spell too soon, 
That made my early youth so bright,— 

I found thee colder than the moon, 

Whose beauty seemed to haunt that night 

With splendor, till the nodding flowers 

Were half awakened ly its ray. 

And startled birds, within their bowers, 
Sang sweetly, dreaming of the day. 



ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 



To warble 'neath a moonlit sky, 
As was my heart to dream of love. 

Beneath the proud glance of thine eye, — 
That looked upon it but to wake 

Love's sweetest music, wild and free, 
To leave — an echo, and forsake 

The heart while yet it thrilled for thee. 

Long years have passed, and now once more 

I stand where on that night we stood, — 
Again the summer moonbeams pour 

Upon my brow their silvery flood ; 
The same from yon calm sky they come, 

No change their mellow light can tell, 
Since first upon the spotless bloom 

Of Eden's bowers they softly fell. 

Yon moon has never lost one ray 
Since first she lit the earth and sea, 

And I have never turned away 

One single thought of love from thee, 



4 ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 

Since on that summer night we met ; 

But now the moonhcams seem to glide 
Around me with a sad regret, 

As if they missed thee from my side. 

The night-wind, as it sweeps along, 

I fancy has a different tone, 
And the low burden of its song 

Runs ever thus, — " Alone ! alone ! " 
How changed the earth, the sky. the flowers. 

Since that too well remembered time, 
When hope sprang up to meet the hours, 

And pleasure drowned the midnight chime. 



THE SUNSET CITY. 



I saw a strange, beautiful city arise 
On an island of light, in the sapphire skies, 
When the sun in his Tyrian drapery drest, 
Like a shadow of God, floated down to the west. 
A city of clouds ! in a moment it grew 
On an island of pearl, in an ocean of blue, 
And spirits of twilight enticed me to stray 
Through these palaces reared from the ruins of clay. 

In musical murmurs, the soft sunset air, 

Like a golden-winged angel, seemed calling me 

there, 
And my fancy sped on, till it found a rare home, 



b THE SUNSET CITY. 

A palace of jasper, with emerald dome, 
On a violet strand, by a wide azure flood ; 
And where this rich city of Sunset now stood, 
Methought some - iph had broken a bar 

From the gold gates of Eden and left them ajar. 

There were amethyst castles, whose turrets seemed 

spun 
Of fire drawn out from the heart of the sun ; 
With columns of amber, and fountains of light, 
Which threw up vast showers, so changingly bright, 
That Hope might have stolen their exquisite sheen 
To weave in her girdle of rainbows, I ween, 
And arches of glory grew over me there, 
As these fountains of Sunset shot up through the air. 

While 1 looked from my cloud-pillared palace afar. 
I saw Night let fall one vast, tremulous star. 
On the calm lu-nu of Even, who then, in return 
Kor tin- gem on her brow, and the dew in her urn, 
id draping the darkness and hiding its gloom 



THE SUNSET CITY. 7 

With the rose-colored curtains which fell from her 

loom, 
All bordered with purple and violet dyes, 
Floating out like a fringe from the veil of the skies. 

And lo ! far away, on the borders of night, 
Rose a chain of cloud-mountains, so wondrously 

bright, 
They seemed built from those atoms of splendor 

that start 
Through the depths of the diamond's crystalline 

heart, 
When light with a magical touch has revealed 
The treasure of beams in its bosom concealed ; 
And torrents of azure, all graceful and proud, 
Swept noiselessly down from these mountains of 

cloud. 

But the tide of the darkness came on with its flood, 
And broke o'er the strand where my frail palace 
stood ; 



8 THE SrNSET CITY. 

While far in the distance the moon seemed to lave 
Like a silver-winged swan in night's ebon wave. 
And then, like Atlantis, that isle of the blest, 
Which in olden time sank 'neath the ocean to rest, 
(Which now the blue water in mystery shrouds,) 
Dropped down in the darkness this city of clouds. 



THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 



On a rock vast and hoar 

By a desolate shore, 
One bright eve, as I wandered alone, 

A gaunt sea-bird I spied 

Looking down on the tide 
Dark and grim from his wave-beaten throne. 

Mute and motionless there, 

In the sun-tinted air, 
And with plumage as black as the night, 

That wild ocean-bird seemed 

Like the form of a fiend 
Standing forth from a background of light. 



10 THE sea-bibd's TREASURE, 

A gay, frolicsome breeze 

Fluttered over the seas, 
And sang on till the waters were stirred 

But a strange, low lament 

With its melody blent, 
As I gazed on that spectral bird. 

For lo ! there as he stood, 
Looking down on the flood, 

I beheld from his white beak unrolled, 
By the warm summer air, 
A long curl of bright hair, 

A brown ringlet, deep tinted with gold. 

Just such ringlets as grow 
Above foreheads of snow, 

Overshadowing earnest blue eyes, 
As the morning misl shrouds, 
'With iis amber-hued clouds, 

Tlio deep light "l' 1 taliai] i 



THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 11 

" Tell me, bird, didst thou go 

Where the coral reefs grow, 
Around grottos of crystal and pearl, 

And most ruthlessly tear 

That rich, radiant hair 
From the brow of some fair shipwrecked girl ? 

" Or where skeletons bleach 

On the wide barren beach, 
When upheaved by the billowy brine, 

Of all beauty bereft, 

Was that frail relic left 
With its life-mocking lustre to shine ? 

" Was it there thou didst find, 

'Mid the damp sea-weed twined, 
That rare curl, whose soft ripples once fell 

On a breast pure and white ; — 

As the midsummer's light, 
Dropping down in some stainless sea-shell ? 



12 THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 

" Strange and sad doth the gleam 

Of that sunny tress seem, 
As it floats o'er thy smooth, sable plume, 

Like a beautiful ray 

From the soul far away, 
Trembling still round its dark ocean toinb. 

" For thy mate didst thou bring 

That frail, glittering thing, 
To be twined in her storm-beaten nest, 

As some heavenly thought 

In its holiness wrought 
Through the dreams of a sin-tortured breast ': 

" Docs a fond mother mourn 

For that fair head, now shorn 
Of its splendor, where dark 1 allows flow ? 

Docs the lullaby still 

Through her memory thrill, 
That she Bans to her child lone ago? 



THE SEA-BIRD'S TREASURE. 18 

Does she think of that time, 
When the sweet Sabbath chime 

Called her up to the temple of prayer, — 
Of how fondly she smiled 
When that auburn-haired child 

Knelt beside her in purity there ? 

Even now could she press 

That long glistening tress 
To her sad breast, methinks it would know 

That those soft strands were shed 

From the beautiful head 
She had pillowed there long, long ago. 

But earth's children must grieve : 

Whether cypress-boughs weave 
O'er their lost ones, or wild sea-birds reap 

Their rich treasures, a moan 

Goeth up to God's throne, 
Prom the hearts of the many who weep. 



14 the sea-bird's treasure. 

Still I sec the rich curl 

Of that fair shipwrecked girl, 
Who lies shrouded where storm-Lillows roll, 

And that bird grim and gaunt 

Shall for evermore haunt 
Like a phantom, the depth of my soul. 



15 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 



SUGGESTED BY AN EXQUISITE BOUQUET SENT TO ME DURING 
A SEVERE ILLNESS. 



0, let them touch my burning brow. 
The petals of those dewy flowers, 

And let my spirit wander now, 

Back through a mist of bygone hours, 

To a sunny spot, in a far-off clime, 

Where I used to rove in my childhood's time. 

My childhood's home ! how like a spell 
Thy dear and sacred memory lies 

Within my heart, — as in a well 
The trembling light of starry skies 

Gleams through its crystal depths at even 

Until they seem a second heaven. 



16 MY CHILDHOOD S HOME. 

And a sweet breath of southern air 
Seems stealing gently by me now, 

The same that stirred my sunny hair, 
And blew the bonnet from my brow, 

Long, long ago, when I had gone 

To gather flowers at early dawn. 

Again, with many a joyous bound, 
My tiny footsteps swiftly pass 

Where golden buttercups were found 
Half hidden 'mid the rustling grass, 

And violets from the soft, green sod 

Seemed meekly looking up to God. 

There often have I paused to hear 
The bee his drowsy matin sing, 

Too gay and guileless then to fear 

That honey-bees perchance might sting; 

My heart was all too fresh and warm 

To think of ill, or shrink from harm. 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. * 17 

And now along the good old hall 
Is scattered half my fragrant store, 

For I have heard my mother's call, 
And, dancing through the open door, 

Her morning kiss I fondly meet, 

And fling my treasures at her feet. 

Then, with a light and stealthy tread, 

I steal behind my father's chair, 
To fling a garland o'er his head, 

And twine it 'mid the silvery hair, 
Till every rose, with dewy glow, 
Seems blushing 'neath a drift of snow. 

And now once more I seem to stand 

Where long, dark shadows round me sweep, 

My gypsy bonnet in my hand, 

For the full sunlight dared not creep, 

With all its glittering pomp, between 

Those twining boughs of evergreen. 



1 * MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 

I loved the gay, glad tilings of earth, 

The sunshine, birds, and streams and flowers, 

Yet would I hush my childish mirth, 

And, through those dim, sequestered bowers, 

In solitude, delight to steal, — 

'T was there I learned to think and feel. 

And oft I 've spread a banquet fair, 
Of acorn-cups and rose-leaves bright, 

That fairies might assemble there 
To revel in the pale moonlight ; 

I loved to dream of mysteries 

Beneath those dark, ancestral trees. 

That homestead is in ruins laid : 
Its fairest blossoms now arc dead: 

Yet still their deep and solemn shade 
Upon the waving grass is shed; 

Thus often sunshine will depart, 

But shadows linger on the heart. 



MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. 19 

And now, when fever wildly burns 
Within this sad and aching breast, 

My spirit through the past returns, 
Beneath that peaceful grove to rest ; 

There love a ceaseless vigil keeps, 

And pensive memory sometimes weeps. 

The rustling of a wild-bird's wings, 

A star, a flower, a gush of rain, 
The sight of sad or joyous things, 

Oft make me seem a child again : 
With voiceless eloquence they come, 
Bright phantoms of my childhood's home. 



20 



AXGEL WATCHERS. 



Angel faces watch ray pillow, angel voices haunt 

my sleep, 
And upon the winds of midnight shining pinions 

round me sweep ; 
Floating downward on the starlight two bright 

infant forms I see, — 
They arc mine, my own 1 night darlings, come 

from Heaven to visit me. 

Earthly children smile upon me, but those little 

ones above 
Were the &rs1 to stir the fountains of a mother's 

deathless love, 



ANGEL WATCHERS. 21 

And, as now they watch my slumber, while their 

soft eyes on me shine, 
God forgive a mortal yearning still to call his 

angels mine. 

Earthly children fondly call me, but no mortal 
voice can seem 

Sweet as those that whisper " Mother ! " 'mid the 
glories of my dream: 

Years will pass, and earthly prattlers cease per- 
chance to lisp my name, 

But my angel babies' accents shall be evermore 
the same. 

And the bright band now around me from their 
home perchance will rove, 

In their strength no more depending on my con- 
stant care and love ; 

But my first-born still shall wander from the sky, 
in dreams to rest 

Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on an earthly 
mother's breast. 



22 ANGEL CATCHERS. 

Time ma)' steal away the freshness, or some 
whelming grief destroy 

All the hopes that erst hud blossomed in my sum- 
mer-time of joy ; 

Earthly children may forsake me, earthly friends 
perhaps betray, 

Every tic that now unites me to this life may pass 
away, — 

But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from their 

blest immortal home, 
Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my darkened 

dreams shall come, 
And I cannot feel forsaken, for, though 'reft of 

earthly love, 
Angel children call me " Mother ! " and my bouI 

will look above. 



23 



HOPES AND FEARS. 



Our hopes are like the wreaths of foam 

That glitter on each shining wave, 
When with a gushing sound they come 

The white and thirsty beach to lave ; 
The waters part, the ripples gleam 

A moment on the silent shore, 
And vanish, as the hopes that seem 

A moment bright, and are no more. 

Seeking for love, for fame, for power, 
To the frail threads of life we cling, 

For hope will cull a withered flower 
And tune a harp with broken string ; 



24 HOPES AXD FEARS. 

And hope will shed a glimmering ray 
Of light on pleasure's ruined shrine, 

For mouldering columns still look gay 
When summer sunbeams o'er them shine. 

Though severed he love's magic chain, 

Still to its broken charms we trust, 
And hope to mend the links again, 

When grief has eaten them like rust. 
Frail as the bubbles on the beach 

That hope may be, a transient beam ; 
But, 'reft of joy, 't is sweet to teach 

The heart to hush its grief, and dream. 

Our hopes arc like the flowers that bloom 

Upon the mountain's verdant side, 
That mountain's heart a burning tomb, 

Cleft by the lava's scorching tide. 
They spring and flourish, lade and die'. 

Like human hopes, as frail and Fair, 
While quenchless fires beneath them lie, 

Like human passions hidden there. 



HOPES AND FEARS. 25 

Our fears are like the clouds that shed 

Their gloom across a summer sky ; 
When life is fairest, some wild dread 

Of grief is ever hovering nigh. 
The gloom may pass, the shadows fade, 

And sunlight only seem to reign, 
But still there is a lingering shade, 

A fear that clouds will come again. 

Where the bright wells of gladness spring, 

Hope will the youthful heart decoy ; 
But fear is hovering there, to fling 

A shadow on the path of joy. 
A canker-worm within the fruit, 

A serpent in the linnet's nest, 
A sentry ever grim and mute, 

Is fear within the human breast. 

A rainbow never spans the sky 
But some dark spirit of the storm, 

With sable plume, is hovering nigh, 
To watch its soft and fairy form. 



20 HOPES AND FEARS. 

Hope never chants her angel song, 
Or bids us rest beneath her wing, 

But Fear with all his phantom throng 
Is in the distance hovering. 

We seek the laurel-wreath of Fame, 

And all her fickle favors trust, 
To live, perchance, without a name, 

And find the chaplet turned to dust. 
Life wears away, 'mid smiles and tears. 

The wedding peal, the funeral toll ; 
But though o'ershadowed still by fears, 

Hope is the sunlight of the sold. 



27 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 



In a peaceful Alpine valley dwelt a maiden, young 

and fair, 
With eyes as blue as the Alpine flower, and curls 

of sunny hair, 
Which fell upon her spotless breast in many a 

shining ring, 
As the golden mists of morning round an Alpine 

snow-drift cling. 

With her aged father dwelling, of his life she 
seemed a part, 

A gleam of sunshine stealing through the shad- 
ows of his heart ; 



28 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

Her love spanned his existence, as the rainbow, 
arched and proud, 

In its strange and mystic glory, spans the tem- 
pest-laden cloud. 

And her beauty, circling round him, filled his 

being with delight, 
Like that bow of promise making all the gloomy 

air seem bright, 
As if some blessed spirit through the storm's dark 

ranks had striven, 
And waved a flag of mercy from the battlements 

of heaven. 

With a step light as the chamois did this Alpine 
maiden glide, 

In her freedom and her beauty, o'er the moun- 
tain's frozen side, 

Now bending like a blossom o'er sumo wild and 
dizzy steep, 

Now glancing like a sunbeam where the crestefl 
glaciers creep, — 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 29 

Till one morning, tired of roaming, she had 
found a fairy bed, 

Where mountain moss upon the rock a russet man- 
tle spread. 

As a summer bird, when weary, nutters gayly to 
its nest, 

Did that joyous maiden nestle on her rustic couch 
to rest. 

Soon her gladness grew to music, — for she sang 
with joy, — and then 

Laughed to hear sweet voices answering her far 
down within the glen ; 

Softly floating up the mountain pame that grace- 
ful cloud of song, 

And each new echo seemed to love its cadence to 
prolong. 

But 't is said her wild notes startled up the Ice- 
King from his lair, 

And, thinking stranger spirits were abroad upon 
the air, 



30 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

He left his frozen cavern home, and, by her sweet 

voice led, 
Erelong beheld the bright-haired maid upon her 

sylvan bed. 

Then a human joy came o'er him, and a human 

love possessed, 
In that moment of enchantment, the bleak desert 

of his breast, 
And a wealth of human feeling from his nature 

seemed to start, 
For woman's smile had severed all the ice-chains 

of his heart. 

Then he vowed to build a palace of the glacier's 

glittering sheen. 
And woo, and win, thai matchless maid to be his 

Alpine queen ; 
And yet he thought n<> dwelling-place, in earth or 

sky or air, 
Could e'er be found half fair enough for one so 

passing fair. 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 31 

But when lie knelt before her, half in wonder, 

half in dread, 
She trembled at his chilling breath, and down the 

mountain fled, 
As a young dove seeking shelter from the falcon's 

piercing eye, 
Or some frightened fawn its covert, 'neath a wild 

and stormy sky. 

" Stay ! stay ! " he cried, " I '11 make thee queen 
o'er boundless realms of snow " ; 

But the maiden shook her sunny curls, and only 
answered, " No ! " 

On, on she fled before him, in her beauty and her 

bloom, 
And his Alpine home, so bright before, seemed 

now all wrapt in gloom. 

She had sought her native valley ; but he dared 

not follow there, 
And wandered to his frozen cave in anger and 

despair. 



32 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

Eagerly upon the morrow, and for many days, in 

vain 
He waited her returning, but the maid came not 

again. 

For she feared her regal lover, and dared no more 
to roam 

Among the icy pathways that begirt his moun- 
tain home ; 

But, lingering in the lowlands, she would ofttimes 
sit and sing, 

In the green depths of the valley, by a clear and 
gushing spring. 

When twilight's purple curtain o'er the drowsy 
earth was flung, 

And the first bright lamp of evening in her azure 
temple hung, 

She would linger in the gloaming, till that star's 
resplendent beam 

Seemed to iill her sinless spirit with a soft, celes- 
tial dream. 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 83 

And, gazing on it fondly through the blue depths 

of the air, 
She fancied that some kindred soul was watching 

for her there. 
Now there dwelt a bright-winged Angel in the 

glory of that star, 
Who looked upon the maiden from his radiant 

home afar. 

And he thought that she was pure enough, and 

fair enough, to glide 
Up to his starry dwelling-place, and be an Angel's 

bride. 
He loved her, in her gladness, and he loved her 

as she wept, 
When her aged father blessed her, ere he laid him 

down and slept. 

And when upon the old man's grave spring daisies 

decked the sod, 
When his orphan knelt and prayed that he had 

gone to dwell with God, 

3 



34 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

At eve the Angel wandered down, and furled his 

shining- wing, 
To woo that lonely maiden, on the margin of the 

spring. 

She turned not from his face in fear, nor veiled 

her dazzled sight, 
But gazed with eager gladness on that beauteous 

child of light ; 
And listened to his music-tones, and, wondering, 

heard him tell 
Of his home within the evening star, where she 

had longed to dwell. 

For many an eve he wooed her, and the days 
seemed long and drear, 

Till that spirit-voice of melody fell on her rap- 
tured ear ; 

Bui nil! "n Loft a gladness there, which naught on 
earth could mar, 

And she pledged her faith to go with him up to 
the twilighl star. 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 85 

As a glow-worm softly folded in a lily's spotless 
bell, 

As an unfound jewel gleaming in some polished 
ocean-shell, 

As a humming-bird half hidden in a rose's glow- 
ing breast, 

Did a love for that bright Angel in the maiden's 
bosom rest. 

Then, clasping gently in his arms a fragile, earthly 

prize, 
The Angel-lover soared aloft to seek his native 

skies ; 
But lo ! the Ice-King, gazing from a dizzy Alpine 

height, 
Felt his heart grow wild with fury, as he watched 

their joyous flight. 



a mighty spell, 
Till from the Angel's shining arms the maiden 
swiftly fell ; 



36 A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 

Then he strove to stay her headlong fall, and 

shield her still from harm, 
All vainly in his terror strove to work a counter 

charm. 

Far down the rugged mountain-side that form of 
beauty fell, 

To where the Alpine torrents in their blackest 
fury swell, 

And her bright curls rudely severed, where the 
rocks were rough and sharp, 

Hung, broken like the golden strings of a celes- 
tial harp ; 

And the Angel looked upon them, as he hovered 

far above, 
Vainly mourning o'er the ruin of his cherished 

earthly love : 
Andlo! when on that shining hair his spirii-u-ars 

were wept, 
A gushing little rivulet quick down the mountain 

swept, — 



A LEGEND OF THE ALPS. 37 

A tribute of the Angel's love to mark his lost 

one's tomb, 
And gurgle on In sadness, as if singing of her 

doom; 
A tiny stream, which sprang to life, born of an 

Angel's tear, 
It grew, nursed by the mountain rains, for many 

a changing year, 



voice seemed to tell 

The sturdy Alpine monarch where his frail young- 
victim fell. 

Its roaring made him tremble ; and for many 
weary days 

He watched its waters, till they turned to ice be- 
neath his gaze. 

Its song is hushed for ever, and a mighty frozen 

tide 
Hangs now, a changeless monument, above the 

Angel's bride ; 



38 A LEGEND OF THE ALFS. 

And still, when evening's chosen star shines on 

it from above, 
The reflection seems a shadow there, left by the 

Angel's love. 



39 



THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 



I heard a note 
, Of mourning float 

Through the starry halls on high, 
When the year laid down 
His shattered crown, 

And bowed his head to die. 

Sad as the dirge 

Of the sea-wave's surge 
When the stranded ship lies near, 

And it seemed to say, 

" Passing away ! " 
That requiem of the year. 



40 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 

I heard a knell 

From the funeral bell 
In Time's ancient steeple hung : 

" Time flics ! " it rang, 

With its iron clang, — 
" Time flies ! " pealed its iron tongue. 

" Another span 

In the life of man 
Is linked to the olden time : 

Shall the coming years 

Be dimmed with tears, 
Like the past, — and stained with crime ? 

Thus rang the song 

Of that spirit throng, 
As they sang at the midnight hour: 

" Docs the old year cling, 

Like an earthly king, 
To the sceptre of his power ? " 



THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 41 

" We have made his shroud 

Of the whitest cloud 
That goes rippling o'er the moon : 

Does he love to gaze 

On the dark, dark days ? 
Has his death-hour come too soon ? 

" Does he love to dwell 

Where the war-trumps tell 
Of strife by a Northern flood ? — 

And where streams of gore 

From brave breasts pour, 
Till the snows are red with blood, — 

" Till the tainted air 

Stains with its glare 
The red Boreal light, that waves 

Like a banner bright 

From the pall of night, 
O'er ten thousand nameless graves ? 



42 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 

" Where the soldier sleeps, 

"While the snow-drift creeps 
Round his form, 'neath a freezing sky, 

With no loved one near, 

To smooth his bier, 
Or to close his staring eye ? 

" Does the old year yearn 
Once more to turn 
His gaze where the war-steeds tramp. 
And the vultures steal 

To their horrid meal 
In sight of the dismal camp '{ 

kk Would he wander hack 

O'er the blood-red track 
Of the war-god's brazen ear, 

Whose torch's gleam 

Semis her silver beam, 
Blushing, back to the polar starS 



THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 43 

" Would he tarry still 

In this world of ill, 
Over which so long had driven 

Sin's poisoned tide, 

That ' Christ crucified ' 
Scarce brings man nearer Heaven ? 

" Would he linger yet 

With a sad regret 
In this southern land of ours, 

Where the sunbeams fold 

Their threads of gold 
Through the veins of countless flowers ? 

" And where bright birds throng 

In the halls of song, 
Which the summer loves to build, 

Till the green arcades 

Of the forest shades 
With their airy notes are filled ? 



44 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 

" Where the moonbeams seem 

Like a silvery stream, 
Dropping' soft through the dewy air, 

And the clouds that glide 

O'er the sunset tide 
Are like angel footprints there V 

" Where the evening flings 

From her sapphire vrings 
Such rare and radiant dyes, 

That we dream the dome 

Of the rainbow's homo 
Floats down from the western skies '.' 

" But Death folds his shroud 

In the summer cloud, 
And lurks 'neath the greenwood tree. 

Prom the city's mart 

Does his lank form start, — 
Canst thou bear him hence with thee?" 



THE OLI> TEAK'S REQUIEM. 45 

No, no, old year, 

Thou wilt leave him here, 
For he dwells with thy father, Time, 

And the new year's birth 

Cannot free the earth 
From the sound of the funeral chime. 

But faith and love 

And hope still prove 
Their heavenly power below, 

And like treasures shine 

In this earthy mine, 
Through the dross of sin and woe. 

" For the Christian's hope 

With death can cope, 
While a mother's holy love, 

And the strange wild bliss 

Of love's rapturous kiss, 
Seem waifs from the land above." 



46 THE OLD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 

" We have stolen the fire " 

( Sang that spirit-choir) 
" From the west, where the sun went down, 

And each shifting ray 

Of the dying day, 
To weave in the new year's crown." 

Their light was shed 

On the old year's head 
As he laid him down to rest, 

And they seem more fair 

From falling there, 
To gleam in his brother's crest. 

And the stars that hum 

In the morning's urn, 
When she sits on her orient throne, 

We will bring to gem 

His diadem 
When the dark-winged hours have down. 



THE OLD YEAR'S KEQUIEM. 47 

" Farewell ! farewell ! " 

There seemed to swell 
As that spirit-band swept on ; 

" Farewell ! farewell ! 

We sound his knell," — 
For another year is gone. 



48 



I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 



0, I love to hear the wind blow ; it makes my 

heart rejoice 
To hear it humming by me, with a plaintive, 

lulling voice. 
I love to watch the sunshine, as it twines within 

the breeze, 
And seems to chant with gladness, flashing gayly 

through the trees. 

When green leaves clasp with murmurs, thrill- 
ing murmurs, deep and strong, 

Like whispered words thai lovers breathe, who 
have been parted long : 



I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 49 

'T was loving thus that severed them, and yet in 

love they meet, 
As leaves, still bending to and fro, the same soft 

sounds repeat. 

I love the wind at morning, when it wakes the 

honey-bee 
And bears him on to waken all the blossoms on 

the lea. 
As the early breeze sweeps by me, I almost see it 

pass, 
With dew-bespangled vesture, trailing softly 

through the grass. 

I love the wind at noontide: then its warm, 

low murmurs come, 
Like voices of affection, — like fond messages 

from home. 
It whispers: "I've been sporting through thy 

father's soft, gray hair, 
And singing like an angel, round thy mother's 

old arm-chair. 



50 I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 

"I stirred the holy pages of the Bible, as she 

read, 
And shook away a tear-drop which upon the 

leaf was shed; 
But my breath was warm and glowing, and my 

wing was light and free, 
And they loved the Southern wanderer because 

he came from thee." 

I love the wind at evening, — when rich, purple 
clouds sweep by, 

Like mourners, gathering silently to see the day- 
light die ; 

When silvery vapors westward, like white-winged 
eagles, soar, 

Or white-sailed vessels floating to a distant gold- 
en shore. 

I love the wind al midnight, — when it seems to 
sigh and wail, 

And shiver, 'neath its mantle spun of moon- 
beams cold and pale, 



I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 51 

With shadows waving round it, like a wealth of 

raven hair : 
It seems to look upon me, — the solemn midnight 

air. 

The night-wind is a minstrel, who for centuries 
has sung, 

And darkness is the temple where his mighty 
harp is hung ; 

'T is strung with rays of starlight, and I love to 
hear him sweep 

Those mystic chords, till Nature chants an an- 
them in her sleep. 

And when the angry storm-king from his thun- 
der cavern springs, 

To hush the night's low music, and to break her 
starry strings, 

The wind forgets to murmur, and goes shrieking 
wildly by, 

A demon, clad in tempest-robes torn madly from 
the sky ! 



52 I LOVE TO HEAR THE WIND BLOW. 

Then his harp is strung with lightning, and he 

laughs to see it shine, 
Hanging high upon the splinters of some riven 

mountain-pine ; 
Ha ! my heart leaps up in wonder, when the tall 

trees bend and nod, 
As if they strove to worship, when the storm-wind 

sings of God. 



53 



"JESUS WEPT. 



A human grief, an earthly gloom, 

The Saviour's spirit swept ! 
And by the cold and silent tomb 

Of Lazarus, He wept. 
Yes, " Jesus wept," — and lo ! on high 

The angels ceased to sing, 
While every seraph in the sky 

Low drooped his shining wing. 

The Son of God with grief had striven, 
Had mourned o'er mortal ill, 

And every voice was hushed in heaven, 
And every harp was still. 



54 " JESUS WEPT." 

The Saviour's eye grew moist and dim 
And sad with human tears, 

And all the angels wept with Him 
Through countless glittering spheres. 

holy grief, — that thus could move 

The God whom saints revere, 
And concentrate a boundless love 

Within one human tear ! 
Bright, viewless watchers bore away 

That spiritual gem, 
To beam, one more immortal ray, 

In God's own diadem. 

When many a deep and crushing wrong 

Was heaped upon Him here, 
He mourned o'er the misguided throng, 

But shed no selfish tear. 
The cross to Calvary lie bore, 

Within a manger slept, 
The torturing crown in meekness wore, 

But only once Be wept. 



"JESUS WEPT." 55 

But once the waves of sorrow rolled 

Above His sacred head, 
And awe-struck gazers cried, " Behold! 

How Jesus loved the dead ! " 
He who but truth and wisdom spake 

Had said that Lazarus slept ; 
Oh ! was it strange he should awake, 

When Christ above him wept ? 

What wonder, if the stars of even 

Had wandered from their spheres, 
To tell the startled hosts in heaven 

Of their Redeemer's tears ? 
If burning suns, which have grown bright 

In God's perpetual smile, 
To see Him weep, had veiled their light, 

And paused in grief the while ? 

And was it strange the eternal choir, 

Amazed, should cease to sing ? 
That tears should steal o'er every lyre, 

And dim each golden string ? 



56 "JESUS WEPT." 

Well might the roses of the sky, 

In their immortal hloom, 
Grow pale to hear the Saviour sigh, 

Beside a mortal's tomb. 

Perchance where unknown systems blaze, 

Of which we can but dream, 
Immortal souls through endless days 

Still chant this wondrous theme ; 
Perchance with sweet and mournful thrill, 

For ever onward swept, 
Eternal echoes murmur still, 

" The gentle Jesus wept ! " 



57 



THE FIEST ECLIPSE. 



He stood alone upon a dizzy steep, 
Watching the still, mysterious face of heaven, 
And holding silent converse with the stars. 
His lofty intellect had soared above 
The petty cares, the dull routine of life, 
And made itself a blest and happy home 
Among the planets. And the pale, pure moon, 
From her rich treasuries of silver light, 
Had steeped his soul in brightness till it grew 
Part of that soul's existence, and a strange, 
Enchanting fascination lured him on 
To tread the labyrinth of immensity, 



58 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 

And seek the mystery he pined to know 
Amid its windings vast and numberless. 
Looking for the reality of that 
Which had sprung up within his bosom like 
A dream, the bold astronomer had left 
The children of this world to toil and strive 
For earthly objects, — some to be defeated, 
Others to grow all weary of their greatness, 
And still live on to smile at public favor, 
Which, fickle and inconstant as the wind, 
Full often fans the torch of man's ambition, 
Till, fed by hope, it glows into a flame, 
Anon to be extinguished by the breath 
Which gave it life. 

His lofty spirit sought 
Its destiny amid the shining host 
Of worlds that throng in clusters through the blue 
And boundless fields of spare, their solemn light 
Falling upon \is like the smile of God, 
Broken by the infinitude of distance 



THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 59 

To starry gleams. And though the mind may lose 

Its own immortal brightness in this maze 

Of high and mystic splendor, yet compare 

Its knowledge with the bright reality, 

And lo ! 't is dim and vague and shadowy 

As is the very dimmest star we see 

Likened unto the sun. 

It is a strange 
Uncertainty which makes this study seem 
So full of wonder and of fearful beauty. 

"When darkness, hovering o'er the earth, unlocked 
His ebon casket, and poured forth its gems 
To glisten on the dewy shrine of night, 
The full moon shining proudly in their midst, 
Like a vast pearl 'mid a multitude 
Of diamonds, that unsleeping devotee 
Of knowledge loved to stand upon the summit 
Of his high, rocky home, and gaze up to 
The glowing firmament. No human step 



60 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 

But his had ever dared to climb along 

Those rugged battlements -which Nature's hand 

Had hurled together till they smote the clouds; — 

Save him and one lone eagle, that for years 

Had made her eyrie on the barren rock, 

Swept by the blast, no living thing had torn 

The sacred robe of solitude that grew 

Around that dismal mountain at its birth. 

It was a fitting -watch-tower for his soul 

To keep its vigils o'er the stars ; it was 

A fitting altar for that grateful soul 

To offer its devotion unto God. 

Through many sleepless nights, of many years, 

He studied there ; for mighty were t^ie waves 

Of mystery his spirit strove to stem. 

But on, — he struggled on, — still grappling with 

Their strength, still diving deeper for the truth, 

Until at last it gleamed upon his sight. 

And when he bore it bravely upward, through 

A foaming surge of doubts, until it burst 

In fair, unclouded splendor on his soul, 



THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 61 

It was as if Aurora's hand had rent 
Some cave within the earth, and poured a flood 
Of golden sunlight on its crystal walls, 
Making resplendent that which, unrevealed 
And in obscurity, were bright. 

And then 
He made a strange prediction : he foretold 
That darkness should usurp the reign of light 
Upon this earth, — that at no distant day 
The sun's broad, burning disk should be obscured. 
It was a wild and startling prophecy, . 
And some there were who trembled and believed ; 
But the vast multitude derided him, 
And " laughed to scorn " his daring prophecy, 
As 'twere a woman's raving. 

Consciously 
That stern philosopher awaits the time, — 
The time that shall fulfil his prophecy, 
Or clash it to the earth in foul disgrace. 



62 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 

The last night has gone by, and the full moon, 

Still moving toward the sun, has disappeared 

Before his gaze, and the eventful day, 

Whose coming he has pined for, dawns at last. 

He saw the earth look up, and blush beneath 

The warm and soft caresses of the morn. 

All things grew brighter, save the burning hope 

Within his breast. For when the sun arose, 

Radiant and shadowless as are the dreams 

Of youth, — those pure, exquisite dreams that come 

Ere yet the buoyant spirit learns to know 

That life is but a sad reality, — 

E'en while he gazed upon it, there grew up 

A strange and sinking fear within his heart. 

And as the morning hours danced blithely on, 

And the loud chant of mirth, the busy hum 

Of industry, and the low carol sweet 

Of calm content, were wafted to his ear 

From a vast city that stretched o'er the plain, 

They seemed to mock him, and that fear had grown 

Into a doubt of his own science. 



THE FIRST ECLIPSE. b 

Lo! 
O'er nature's fair and sunny face there crept 
A ghastly pallor, like the hue of death 
Stealing the splendor from a cheek and brow 
Which we had gazed on but an hour ago, 
And thought it all too beautiful to change. 
Into the blue and laughing eye of morn 
There stole a livid light, and a deep spell 
Of silence seemed to fall upon the earth, 
As if its mighty heart had ceased to beat 
For ever. And the very air itself 
Seemed for a moment breathless, as the joy 
Of him who watched upon the mountain-top, 
Whose very soul was glad amid this reign 
Of terror. it was a fearful stillness, 
Like that which lingers round the bed of death 
While yet the spirit of some cherished one 
Stands on the threshold of eternity ! 
And as the wail of grief (when it has fled), 
Gushing from hearts o'ercharged with agony, 
When darkness grew upon the sun's broad disk, 



64 THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 

Dashing out all its glory, a wild shriek 

Of anguish rose upon the rayless air ; 

A clang of brazen trumpets, and the shout 

Of maddened multitudes, then seemed to shake 

The earth and echo through the universe. 

They fled from out their marble palaces, 

And dashed themselves in terror to the ground. 

It was as if God's mighty wrath had come 

Upon his children in their wickedness, 

And with a fearful vengeance swept the waves 

Of twice ten thousand oceans o'er the sun, 

Quenching its light for ever. 

The wild beasts 
Ban frightened to their dens, as if they sought 
A shelter from the darkness, and sent forth 
A dismal howling in the wilderness, 
While sea-birds screaming flew beneath the waves, 
To perish, and the lonely eagle swept 
That watcher of the mountain with her wing, 
As she soared upward with a plaintive cry, 



THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 65 

To seek and save the young her jealous care 
Had cradled 'mid the clouds. 

In such a scene 
Of horror and despair, the dauntless man 
Whose genius had foretold this first eclipse 
Bowed down his forehead to the ground, and 

breathed 
A prayer of gratitude to Him who gave 
That knowledge which had kept his heart from 

fear 
Amid the darkness deep. 

And who was he ? 
Alas ! there comes no answer from the past ! 
Some wave of time has swept his name away 
For ever from the earth, and there is lost, 
In the dark, sullen sea of ages gone, 
A brilliant gem, that should be gleaming yet 
Within the crown of science. But we see 
The memory of his genius shining on, 



bb THE FIRST ECLIPSE. 

Bright as the orbs that looked upon its birth. 
And even as they roll unchanged above 
The wreck of nations and of human hopes, 
A watch-fire on the battlements of fame, 
The glory of his greatness shall endure. 



G7 



I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 



I love the beautiful ! let me find 

A pathway for my spirit, where, on high, 
The midnight stars their shining leaves have twined 

And hung a wreath of glory round the sky ! 
Blossoms of light ! whose beamy petals seem 

Dripping with silver or with amber dew, 
While trembling o'er me, how I love to dream 

That troops of angels tend the gardens where 
ye grew ! 

And when along the far horizon's verge 
The twilight clouds lie bright as fairy land, 

I love to watch the ocean billows surge, 

And seem to break upon that purple strand : 



68 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 

When the full moon seems wafted by the waves, 
Onward and upward, gently to the skies, 

As some vast gem, upheaved from ocean caves, 
And cast upon the dim blue shores of Paradise. 

And when the night with sable drapery seems 

Hiding the whole immensity of space, 
I love to watch the morn, with pencil beams, 

On the vast canvas of the darkness trace 
A picture of the universe, the lines 

So dim at first, floods, fields, and mountains gray, 
Then brightening, till earth's panorama shines, 

Made perfect through the gilded vistas of the day. 

Morn seems to lean her easel on the skies, 

And, from the fountains of the sunlight there 
Stealing bright drops to mix her matchless dyes, 

Paints with her magic hand, till, passing fair, 
A picture hides that canvas dark and vast, 

Whose Grod-created hues man still once more 
Will strive to imitate, but. foiled at last, 

Can only look upon it, wonder, and adore. 



I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 69 

Up to the storm-clouds I have often gazed, 

When far aloft their gloomy grandeur grew, 
And thought they were like huge volcanoes raised, 

To bound an ocean beautiful and blue ; 
Then when the thunder's muffled bells were tolled, 

And from those phantom craters leaped the glare 
Of the red lightning, lo ! its hot floods rolled 

Like lava sweeping down the pathways of the air. 

I love the beautiful ! let me go 

Into the forest's stilly depths afar, 
Where, in the dark, ten thousand fire-flies glow, 

Like atoms wafted from some shattered star, — 
Where there is stillness so profound, it fills 

The soul with silence, and we almost start 
To hear the dew which Memory distils, 

Dropping upon the folded blossoms of the heart. 

I love to see the ruddy lifeblood gush 

Up from the heart's full fountains, and then steal 

Over the brow of beauty, in a blush 
(Of lovely innocence, the rosy seal) ; 



70 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 

And by the voice of love's impassioned vow, 
To see a lofty nature gently stirred, 

As gently as the aspen's graceful bough 
Is shaken by the song of some "wild forest-bird. 

I love to watch the host of butterflies, 

To which the breezes of the spring gave birth, 
Like mimic angels floating from the skies 

To wake the myriad blossoms of the earth ; 
Stirring the leaves on every graceful stem, 

To find the honey in its perfumed bowl, 
As a fair woman seeking for the gem 

Of genius hidden still within her child's pure soul. 

I love the beautiful ! The gushing swell, 

The low lament, the soft, unceasing wail 
Of music sweeping through an ocean shell. 

Unto my listening fancy tells a tale 
Of some lost Peri who once made her home 

Within that mystic cell : so passing lair. 
Her fading beauty Hushed its pearly dome, 

And her departing spiril Lefl it^ death-song there. 



I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 71 

Up to the west, where scattered fragments shine 

Of day's rich banquet, I would love to go ; 
When the red light, like rosy rippling wine 

From evening's sapphire goblet seems to flow. 
There would I quaff the splendor she distils, 

And then amid her cloudy realms explore 
The caves of light that rift those purple hills, 

And 'mid their wonders seek the sunset's gold- 
en ore. 

On Fancy's sea I launch my spirit-boat, 

With airy sails, by Hope and Memory wrought, 
And o'er its mystic billows onward float 

To cruise among the haunted isles of Thought. 
Some verdant in the tropic clime of Joy, 

And some begirt by Sorrow's frozen zone ; 
Yet who their solemn beauty would destroy, 

Or break the sacred spell of silence round them 
thrown ? 

I love the beautiful ! I stand, in dreams, 
Beneath that arch of glory which the sun, 



72 I LOVE THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Reaping the rich abundance of his beams, 
Above the fountains of the rain has spun ; 

And gazing down into their crystal springs, 
And up to' where that misty circle falls, 

My spirit, chained with beauty, folds her wings, 
And lingers spell-bound in the rainbow's glis- 
tening halls. 



73 



THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 



The wind swept by 

"With his battle-cry, 
And I watched the mountain storm, 

When the lightning came, 

With its spears of flame, 
And cleft the tall tree's form. 

I heard him come, 
With his thunder drum, 

That wind of the mountain height ; 
And my pulse stood still, 
And my heart grew chill, 

For I knew his wondrous mis-lit. 



74 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 

The sky grew black 

In the tempest's track, 
When there, like a vampire, came 

The thunder cloud, 

With its inky shroud, 
And wings of the lightning flame. 

Down, down it flew, 

And a monster grew, 
As it lit on a mountain's crest, 

Whose heart of stone 

Seemed with fear to groan 
'Neath the storm-bird's murk}- breast. 

I bowed my head, 

As the leaves were shed 

On the wing of the rushing shower : 
And my soul was awed, 
For I thought of God, 

And quailed 'neath Jehovah's power. 



THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 75 

The strong pines snapped, 
*As their trunks were wrapped 
In the grasp of the ruthless wind ; 

And the Storm-king's brow 

Was with many a bough 
Of the broken laurel twined. 

Those stalwart trees, 

In the summer breeze, 
They wave like the mountain flower ; 

But its tender bell 

Can brave as well 
That wind in his conquering hour. 

The turbid stream, 

With a hissing scream, 
Leaped down from its rocky home, 

As if possessed 

With the wild unrest 
Of some angry mountain gnome. 



7G THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 

A fairy tide, 

I had seen it glide 
Oft so gently on its way, 

That the slender grass, 

Where its ripples pass, 
Scarce bent beneath their spray. 

But a torrent now, 

From the mountain's brow, 

Did its maddened waters leap, 
And huge rocks crashed, 
Where its dark waves dashed, 

In their path, down the headlong steep. 

But the winds expire, 

While the lightning fire 
Burns dim, — and the thunder's tone 

Then seemed to grow, 

Deep, deep, and low. 
Like a Titan's dying -roan. 



THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 77 

The day went down, 

With his golden crown, 
Half beclouded in the west, 

And then right soon 

Was the virgin moon 
Crowned queen of the silver crest. 

All pure and fair, 

Through the moistened air, 
In a throno of light she hung, 

While a dewy veil, 

O'er her forehead pale, 
Of the mountain-mist was flung. 

Then my soul was awed, 

As I worshipped God ; 
And Him, who upon the deep, 

When the tempest blew 

Round his frightened crew, 
Was found in their midst — asleep ! 



78 THE MOUNTAIN STORM. 

For I knew his will, 

Who with " Peace, be still ! " 
Could the raging ocean bind, 

Was with me there, 

In the moonlit air, 
And had chained the mountain wind. 



79 



TWO YEARS OLD. 



Is there on this cold, selfish earth 

One heart so cruel as to scold 
A roguish boy, brim-full of mirth, 

And, like my pet, just two years old ? 
For fun and mischief seem to leap 

Through his blue eyes from Robby's heart, 
As from a harebell's chalice deep 

The half-imprisoned sunbeams dart. 

I got a switch the other day, 

Just half inclined to whip my pet, 

But on the mantle stowed away, 
That switch, unused, is lying yet. 



80 TWO YEARS OLD. 

For when I shook it o'er his head, 
He danced about, half wUd with glee, 

Then quick behind the table fled, 
And, feigning fear, peeped out at me. 

What could I do hut laugh at that ? 

Nor did my fit of laughter fail 
To make him worse, — for to the cat 

He sneaked, and pulled her long, sleek tail 
Until poor pussy mewed aloud ; 
. And then — I shook the switch once more, 
And many whippings inly vowed 

For little Rob were still in store. 

But when I cried (with half a frown), 

"You'll hurt the cat, you naughty boy ! n 
He hugged her up, and smoothed her down, 

Until poor pussy purred with joy. 
For love through all his mischief flows, 

And gentle feelings softly beam 
Through his wild mirth, Like some sweet rose 

Reflected from a gushing Btream. 



TWO TEAKS OLD. 81 

From morning's dawn till set of sun, 

His feet and fingers never tire ; 
He steals the poker for a gun, 

And takes the broom to poke the fire. 
Then with a cunning look he '11 stand 

Upon the highest chair in reach, 
And shouting loud, with outstretched hand, 

Pretend to make a mighty speech. 

In every nook or corner sly 

His roguish eye is sure to peep, 
And grandma's pocket he will try 

To fathom, be it e'er so deep. 
He pulls the buttons off my dress, 

And then says, " Look ! " My pretty boy ! 
When I might scold, I pause to bless 

Thy upturned face, so full of joy. 

His father's hat he loves to wear, 

And, hiding half his tiny head, 
A glow of beauty, rich and rare, 

Upon that old black hat is shed. 



82 TWO YEARS OLD. 

For 'neatli its brim so dark and deep, 
His dimpled face, all bright with bloom, 
. Peeps out, as rosy vapors peep 

Sometimes from clouds of wintry gloom. 

He '11 slyly pull his brothers' hair, 

Or steal their toys and run to me. 
But when they gather round in prayer, 

He too will bend his little knee ; 
And though he scarce can speak a word, 

There 's worship in his speaking eye, 
And Hobby's prayer I know is heard. 

When he looks up to God's blue sky. 



MEMORIES. 



In silence and in solitude I love to gather all 
The cherished thoughts of bygone hours, where 

like autumn leaves they fall, 
Bringing the hues of summer-time, when hope 

was fresh and green, 
To blend with the spirit's ripened bloom, and the 

harvest's golden sheen ; — 

To wander through the vale of years, where the 

stars of Memory cast 
Their soft and shadowy splendors o'er the ocean 

of the past, 



84 MEMORIES. 

And smile again, as vanished .joys before us seem 

to sweep, 
Till, startled by some keen regret, we turn away 

to weep. 

A look, a word, a music-tone, a perfume wafted 

by, 

How often are they laden with some thrilling 
memory : 

The loved, — the lost, — those we may meet no 
more as we have met, — 

Visions too sad to dwell upon, too lovely to for- 
get! 

I would not tear from Memory's wreath the tini- 
est bud away, 

For all the gaudy flowers that shed their fragrance 
o'er to-day ; 

And uVn the shadows of the past more dear and 
sacred seem, 

Than joys which on the present cast a warm and 



MEMORIES. 85 

I would not rend the smallest link of by-gone 

hours in twain, 
If Love could bring his brightest gems to mend 

the broken chain ; 
Nor lose one drop from Memory's cup (e'en were 

it dashed with woe), 
Though life's unbroken chalice still with pleasure 

might o'erflow. 

I would not silence Memory's harp, or break one 

golden string, 
If mirth's loud anthems in my heart for evermore 

could ring, 
Nor quench the silvery lamp that beams within 

her holy urn, 
To wander after meteors, which in the future 

burn. 

The present may be full of bliss, the past tinged 
with regret, 

But light and shade within my heart have min- 
gled as they met ; 



86 MEMORIES. 

And if the tear for pleasure gone should dim a 

smile to-day, 
Moments of sunshine oft will o'er the clouds of 

Memory play. 



87 



WHY ART THOU SAD? 



Why art thou sad ? 0, dearest, tell me why ? 

Unlock the fountains of thy deep regret, 
And if my smile no more can glad thine eye, 

My love, at least, may teach thee to forget, 
For a brief season, the strong bitterness 

Which from thine altered nature seems to start, 
Withering the verdure of my happiness, 

As drop by drop it falls upon thy heart. 

For oh ! when thou art sad, there is on earth 
No mirror for my joy. I love to trace 

A soft and shadowy image of my mirth, 
Ever reflected upon thy dear face ; 



Ob -VTIIY ART THOU SAD ." 

As rays of light that wander tremblingly 
To sport upon some calm and silent stream, 

And linger there, and grow more bright to see 
Each wave give hack to them another beam. 

But the clear waters of that brook may grow 

So turbid, that, when summer sunbeams rest 
Upon it, there shall come no more a glow 

Of mirrored beauty from its darkened breast : 
And thus, unheeded, now my gladness falls. 

And when I fondly look into thine eye 
With that mute eloquence the spirit calls 

Its chosen language, there is no reply. 

Too well I know thy nohle soul is wrung 

By some strange grief; — a shadow cold as death 
Has swept thy heart, and o'er its brightness filing 

The blighting dampness of a demon's breath. 
May I no1 share thysorrow? J can weep, 

[f tears will be to thee a holier balm 
Than smiles ; — then le1 me bow my head and steep 

Thy wounded breast in tears till ii is calm. 



WHY ART THOU SAD? 89 

All thoughtlessly, I may have caused thee grief, 

For thy high nature shrinks before the sting . 
Of a quick word, as the mimosa's leaf 

Beneath the human touch falls withering : 
But anger ne'er can make itself a home 

Within thy bosom ; and I know full well 
That one harsh thought of me will never come 

Within the chambers of thy heart to dwell. 

And all my love, and half my tenderness, 

Had charmed away thy sadness long ago, 
And won thee, dearest, back to happiness, 

If thine were some light care, some transient woe. 
But when my smile has lost its magic spell, 

And when I sing to thee, alas ! in vain, 
Some fearful sorrow, which I cannot quell, 

Must hold, within thy breast its gloomy reign. 

I 've often dreamed of an enchanted land, 
With skies unclouded, save by fairy light, 

Where jewels sleep upon the golden sand, 
And birds too beautiful for human sight 



90 WHY ART THOU SAD? 

Are glancing amid groves of rare perfume : 
And as a hideous phantom dwelling there, 

Is this dense cloud upon thy life, this gloom 
Which darkens thy existence with despair. 

Turn not away from my entreaties now, 

But let me pass my fingers once again, 
Thus, gently through thy hair, and o'er thy brow ; 

And let me not beseech thee still in vain 
To look within my soul for sympathy ; 

Communing not with thee, I feel like one 
"Whose doom it is to pine unceasingly, 

And tread the desert of this world alone ! 



91 



A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 



A Peri from her sea-girt cave 

Was wandering on a summer even, 

When white caps crowned each swelling wave, 
And clouds were on the face of heaven. 

Her bark of light and fairy form 
Was anchored near a silvery strand, 

While, heedless of the coming storm, 
She roamed along the sparkling sand. 

When sun, and sky, and water smiled, 

Often she sported on the shore, 
But never had this ocean child 

Beheld her Father's wrath before. 



92 A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 

The black cloud burst ! the lightning flashed ! 

Down rushed the floods of beating rain, 
While billows caught the roar, and dashed 

Their thundering echoes back again. 

As when in some deep wood, to hide, 
A bright and timid bird has flown, 

Amid this strife of wind and tide 

The Peri stood, and watched alone, — 

Till the mad tempest ceased to rave, 

Hushing awhile its demon yell, 
And winds had muttered to each wave, 

In moaning blasts, a low farewell. 

Then, where dark clouds so late had driven. 
And rolling thunders fiercely spoke, 

Now sunlight, through the gates of heaven, 
In streams of softest splendor broke. 



A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 93 

And see, where drop and sunbeam met, 
That beauteous arch, serenely proud, 

As if some son of light had set 
A seal of glory on the cloud. 

It might be that a seraph's wing 
Had swept along the moistened air, 

And left its mingled hues to cling 
And beam, a glittering circlet there. 

The Peri gazed with ecstasy 

Upon the rainbow's graceful form ; 

For ne'er till now beheld her eye 
This brilliant of the sun and storm. 

She ran to clasp within her arms 
The band of soft and dreamy light ; 

But lo ! as on she sped, its charms 
Fled faster from her eager sight. 



94 A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 

" Alas ! " she cried, " beneath the wave 
How many gems of beauty lie, 

Yet none so fair, within my cave, 
As this rich jewel of the sky. 

" could I seize that mystic gleam, 
The inconstant lustre which I see, 

Or of that bow but one soft beam, 
To bear beneath the waves with me ! " 

And as her tears her grief proclaim. 
Filling her sad and downcast eye. 

The angel of the rainbow came, 
For she had heard the Peri's sigh. 

"List, daughter of the dark blue sea. 
Bright spirit of the restless deep ! 

A gem of light I'll give to thee : 

Then mourn no more, and cease to weep. 



A LEGEND OF THE OPAL. 95 

The angel paused, — then, drawing near, 
One lucid drop she quickly stays ; 

And, crystallized, that Peri's tear 

Plashed with the rainbow's countless rays. 

The spirit faded from her sight ; 

But who the Peri's joy can tell, 
When, with its heart of prisoned light, 

An Opal on her bosom fell ! 

And thus a mystic name in story 
This gem has borne for many a year, 

Blending with all the rainbow's glory 
An ocean spirit's pearly tear. 



9G 



NIAGARA 



Dasii on ! clash on ! and swell, for ever swell, 

The chorus of thy wild and gushing song ! 
That billowy anthem seems with joy to tell 

Of Him who made thy wondrous voice so strong. 
Man's boasted eloquence but feebly vies 

"With the loud music of thy ceaseless hymn, 
And shining clouds from thy rough altars rise, 

Which make the light of earthly offerings dim. 

0, who would dare, while gazing upon thee, 
Todoubl the power thai made theewhal i hi mart ? 

There let the scoffer bend his stubborn knee, 
And speak the prayer that trembles in his hearts 



9.7 



I -would not ask a holier spot to breathe 

My holiest thoughts, or bow me down to pray, 

Than where the laughing sunshine conies to wreathe 
A crown of glory through thy sparkling spray. 

I strove to tell the thoughts, which, thick and fast, 

When first I saw thee, through my bosom swept ; 
I longed to speak, but could not, and at last 

Bowed low my head, in silent awe, and wept. 
Down, down, for countless centuries as now, 

That emerald torrent o'er the rock has poured, 
And countless rainbows on thy misty brow 

Have written, " Holiness unto the Lord." 

And when stern Winter clasps the cloudy veil 

That floats around thee with his icy hand, 
Making thy wondrous beauty sad and pale, 

As from thy forehead drops the glittering band, 
Lo ! does the white foam surging at thy feet 

Build up to God a mighty monument, 
A frozen altar, to His praise as meet 

As summer rainbows o'er thee softly bent. 

7 



98 NIAGARA. 

I 'd love to see the angry tempest-king 

Do battle with thee in thy strength and pride, 
And "watch the whirlwind dip his ruffled wing 

With "wasted strength in thy resistless tide ; 
To see the dark ranks of the storm advance, 

And hurl their thunders at thy bristling crest ; 
To -watch the lightning's fiery javelins glance 

From the "white shield upon thy heaving breast. 

Man dares the ocean, though its -waves devour 

His swarjning fleets, — he wrestles with the sea ; 
But in the zenith of his boasted power 

He never yet has dared to cope with thee. 
Thou nccdcst not the aid of wind and storm 

To make thee terrible ; yet dost thou blend 
Thy smiles and fury in one strange, wild form, 

So wonderful, we scarce can comprehend. 

Grand, beautiful, invincible thou art, 
But, ah! how vaguely human words can tell 

Of thee (as thou art sweeping through my heart ) ! 
One atom of thy shining spray as well 



99 



Could paint those mighty torrents as they pour, 
For ever changing, while thou art the same, 

Summer and winter, now and evermore, 

As when from God thy foaming waters came. 



100 



THE SPIRIT-BIRD 



I know thou art listening, dear one, yet 

To the voice of that spirit-bird, 
Whose strange, wild song, when last we met, 

With its midnight witchery stirred, 
As by some angel's holy spell, 

The tenderest chords of memory's lute, 
The saddest, — yet we loved too well 

Their melody to wish them mute. 

While soft our Southern moonlight folds 
Its white wreaths o'er thy placid brow, 

I know thy calm, proud spirit holds 
A pure and blesl communion now 



THE SPIRIT-BIRD. 101 

With unseen forms, a shadowy band, 
And, while that mystic warbler sings, 

They whisper of the better land, 

And fan thee with their viewless wings. 

I 've seen the dark-eyed, languid Night 

Oft-times clasp on her silver crown, 
When earth seemed full enough of light 

To woo the lost and lovely- down 
To dwell with us, — when thou and I 

Have gazed through holy tears above, 
Until the islands of the sky 

Seemed thronged with spirits of our love. 

Our loved, — " not lost, but gone before," — 

Some young and some surpassing fair, 
And one upon that changeless shore, 

A blessed saint, with snow-white hair, 
A bard, whose voice, to us so dear, 

Is hushed, whose earthly harp is riven ; 
Dost thou not dream that thou canst hear 

The music of his soul in heaven ? 



102 THE SPIRIT-BIRD. 

I know a shade from sorrow's wing 

Has veiled thy gentle heart with gloom, 
As cypress trees their shadows fling 

On water-flag or lotus-bloom, 
Oft drifted by the darkling wave 

Upon the shore, till one by one, 
As human hearts which love might save, 

They perish, dreaming of the sun. 

But as the murky smoke-wreaths spring 

Up from the city's mart on high, 
And, tinted by the Morning's wing, 

Sweep on in bright clouds o'er the sky, 
When shadows round thee darkly roll, 

0, look aloft, and bend in prayer, 
Till 'neath the radiance of thy soul 

They turn to clouds of glory there. 

Be ever like the flowers, that fling 

Their fragrance in Night's sapphire urn. 

Or like the birds we love, thai sing 
"When high on heaven's vast altar burn 



THE SPIRIT-BIRD. 103 

The midnight stars, — amid the gloom 
Of sorrow's night, in beauty still 

Let Faith unfold thy heart's rich bloom, 
And its deep chords divinely thrill. 

Still look aloft, — though 'mid the blest 

Our sainted bard is throned, yet he 
Would mourn to see thee drooping rest 

Beneath grief's deadly upas-tree : 
Then, if thou wouldst not dim the strings 

Of his new harp with tears, rejoice 
Whene'er that mystic night-bird sings, 

And dream it is a spirit's voice. 



104 



0, TAKE ME ON THE WATER 



0, take me on the water ! let 1113' wayward spirit 

lave, 
With the shadows that lie glimmering, beneath 

the cool, deep wave ; 
The purple clouds, the earth and sky, that haunt 

yon lake's calm breast, 
Like dreams of bliss in some pure soul, making 

its slumbers blest. 

"When storms arc sweeping through my heart, I 

Love to l'eel the spray. 
That springs beneath the dashing oar, upon my 

forehead plaj j 



O, TAKE ME ON THE "WATER ! 105 

It seems to quench the burning thoughts that 

flicker through my brain, 
And cool the fevered drops that course through 

every throbbing vein. 

And as along the lonely lake our tiny shallop 
springs, 

'Tis sweet to hear that gurgling song, the wa- 
kened water sings ; 

Its low and gushing music seems to murmur 
plaintively, 

Of memories my heart has loved, and cherished 
silently. 

I love to bow my head, and watch the silvery 

bubbles start, 
Like tears of rapture that have sprung from some 

too joyous heart ; 
And see the crystal water break, in dimples all 

the while, 
As, when our joy is told by tears, the lips are 

sure to smile. 



106 O, TAKE ME ON THE WATEK ! 

In fancy oft I 'vc wandered down, where the soft 
shadows lie 

Of every glowing cloud that flits across the sun- 
ny sky ; 

As if a thousand bright-winged birds had flut- 
tered through the air, 

And fled beneath the waves to bathe their gor- 
geous plumage there. 

And when the light breeze steals along, as if it 

feared to break 
The dreamy silence, which has thrown a spell 

upon the lake, 
Soft as an angel's balmy breath, it whispers 

through my soul, 
Bidding the freshest, greenest leaves of Memory 

unroll. 

And as with swifter wing it Hies, the sleeping 

waves (o kiss 
Awakening them from sunlit dreams, to taste a 

wilder bliss, 



O, TAKE ME ON THE WATER ! 107 

Each shining ripple brings to mind some ray of 

gladness fled, 
Some hope, or joy, which o'er my life a hallowed 

beam has shed. 

Then bring, bring my light guitar, and as we 

glide along, 
Some spirit of the wood shall catch the burden 

of my song, 
And bear it through those leafy halls where they 

are wont to dwell, 
And where a band of echoes meet, its melody to 

swell. 

Music upon the water ! how plaintive is its 
tone, 

As forth along the voiceless air each trembling- 
note is thrown, 

So eloquent, so mournful, — like the wailings of 
a dove 

While watching for her absent mate, in some lone 
cypress grove. 



108 O, TAKE ME ON THE WATER ! 

Voices and smiles of those I love, with music 

seem to spring, 
And parting words come back to me, upon its 

viewless wing ; 
And links within affection's chain, which were too 

bright to sever, 
Seem firm again, — as when I dreamed that they 

would last for ever. 

Then take me on the water, that my heart may 

be at rest, 
And my spirit all untrammelled as the wind 

upon its breast, 
Where echoes from the forest, and the blue lake's 

tranquil flow, 
Shall mingle with the music and the thoughts of 



109 



THE REMEMBERED NAME. 



0, would that I could hear no more 

That dear, remembered name, 
Which long ago to youth's bright shore 

Like summer music came, 
For on my heart with mournful thrill 

It must for ever fall, 
And wake a strange, sad echo still 

In memory's haunted hall. 

I 've tried to hush the thoughts that start 

In madness and in fear, 
To sweep across my troubled heart 

When that loved name I hear ; 



110 THE REMEMBERED NAME. 

But easier far 'twould be to thrall 
The wild tornado's wrath, 

"When giant pines bend low and fall 
All shivered in its path. 

There is a star in memory's sky 

That in its beauty beams 
Upon my soul unceasingly, 

And brightens all my dreams. 
I 've sought in vain with Lethe's tide 

To quench its changeless light ; 
Forgetfulness can never hide 

A memory so bright 

My spirit ever strives to pour 

An earnest, voiceless prayer 
To bask beneath its rays no more, 

But still lies prostrate there. 
As tides obey the silvery moon, 

That star has ruled my fate ; 
It rose within my bear! too Boon, 

To set, alas! too late ! 



THE REMEMBERED NAME. Ill 

0, once thy memory seemed to me 

Like an enchanted isle 
That sprung from life's unruffled sea 

To blossom in thy smile ; 
For Hope then moored her fairy bark 

Beside that phantom shore, 
But soon fled o'er the waters dark, 

To anchor there — no more. 

That land of love was passing fair, 

For e'en when Hope had fled, 
I sought the flowers of gladness there, 

But lo ! their bloom was shed ; 
And every joy, so fresh before, 

Fell like a withered leaf, 
To moulder on that silent shore, 

In loneliness and grief. 

I knew it was idolatry, 

And struggled to be free ; 
But yonder far-off sunset sky, 

Reflected in the sea, 



112 THE REMEMBERED NAME. 

Might strive as well to break the charm 
Which makes each blue wave seem 

A golden cloud, all bright and warm 
As those that o'er it beam. 

I 've sometimes prayed that we might meet 

Upon this earth no more ; 
But ere it reached the mercy-seat 

My saddened soul would pour 
Another and a wilder prayer, 

In bitterness and pain, 
Beseeching still, with deep despair, 

To meet thee once again. 

And when I hear thy name, it seems 

Like a sweet, mournful note 
Of heavenly music, which in dreams ■ 

To some lost soul might float, 
A strange, unreal melody, 

That soul cannot forget, 
Linked with a gad reality 

Of desolate regret. 



113 



TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. 



Rosa, as I bend above thee, 

Resting in thy cradle-bed, 
Can it be because I love thee, 

That a golden glow seems shed 
All around where thou art sleeping, 

(As round pictured saints we see,) 
Or are angel-watchers keeping 

Holy vigils over thee ? 

Is it fancy's halo, beaming 

Through a cloud of earthly love, 

Or art thou, my sweet child, dreaming 
Of our blessed ones above ? 



114 TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. 

Do the same bright pinions flutter 
Through thy visions as through mine' 

Do thy angel-sisters utter 
To thee lullabies divine ? 

As twin coral buds that quiver 

In a dimpled wave's caress, 
Now thy red lips as they sever 

Viewless kisses seem to press ; 
And thy violet eye upturning 

Wears a look of glad surprise, 
As that baby heart were yearning 

Toward thy playmates in the skies. 

And mcthinks they have been reaping 
Blossoms in the spirit-land, 

Here to weave, where thou art sleeping, 
Garlands, like a starry band, 

To hll thy infant heart with pleasure; 
For thy tiny band now so-ins 

Reaching up to clasp the treasure 
Angels bring i<> deck thy dreams. 



TO MY INFANT DAUGHTER. 115 

As a little white cloud, sleeping 

Near the moon, is fledged with light, 
And, on wings of silver sweeping, 

Like a moonlit dove takes flight, 
May thy spotless soul, reflecting 

Holy love, be holy too, 
" Angel-watchers," still protecting, 

Find thee ever pure and true. 

Sleep, sweet one ! the bright wings waving 

Round thee may, in after years, 
Be a talisman, then saving 

Thy young life from blight and tears. 
0, if sin or grief should darken 

Thy pure heart with earthly dust, 
To those " angel- watchers " hearken ; 

They will teach thee whom to trust. 



11C 



THE SIGNAL GUN. 



Two ocean steamers in their glory 

Met upon the broad blue main ; 
But one returned to bear the story, 

And they ne'er shall meet again. 
It "was a sad and fearful meeting, 

And the strong man weeps to tell 
All of their wild and tearful greeting, 

Of their long and last farewell. 

Two friendly barks ! 't was strange their speaking 
Should be so hushed by cries of rear, 

By woman's voice, in anguish shrieking 
Still for help, when none was near. 



THE SIGNAL GUN. 117 

'T was strange upon the broad Atlantic 

Thus to meet, and one be slain, 
Like mail-clad warriors, fierce and frantic, 

On a boundless battle-plain. 

Strong, sturdy hearts stood still with horror, 

When those ocean steamers met ; 
A nation bowed her head in sorrow, 

And her tears are falling yet ; 
For eyes that then were bright now languish, 

Spirits that were light and gay 
Now vainly strive to hush their anguish, 

And forget that fatal day. 

A cold and dreary mist was flinging 

Darkness over sea and sky, 
When, wildly o'er the waters ringing, 

Came that deep and plaintive cry. 
Gray clouds like funeral hosts were stealing 

Sadly o'er the morning sun, 
When, with its mournful echoes pealing, 

Boomed the Arctic's signal gun. 



118 THE SIGNAL GU.V. 

For though that mighty bark was shattered, 

Though around her sinking wreck 
A wealth of human life lay scattered, 

Yet upon the lonely deck 
One noble youth his watch was keeping 

Still beside the signal gun ; 
The hungry waves were round him creeping, 

But his task was not yet done. 

He stood in brave and holy beauty, 

Sad, and calm, and free from fear, 
Alone, beside that post of duty. 

Faithful still, though death was near ; 
Though strong men there had fiercely striven 

But to find a watery grave, 
Yet still the signal must be given, — 

There were many left to save. 

And while the death-cry echoed near him, 
Undismayed that dauntless one, 

Wiihuui b single voice to cheer him, 
Stood and lit the signal gun. 



THE SIGNAL GUN. 119 

And when, with sound like muffled thunder, 
Dark waves parted round the wreck, 

His lighted match was seen with wonder, 
Gleaming sadly on the deck. 

But few returned to tell his story, 

He who did a matchless deed, 
Without one hope of gain or glory, 

Which should be the hero's meed. 
The pangs of war, the martial bugle, 

Oft have made a dastard brave, 
But there was naught to cheer the struggle 

Of his death-watch on the wave. 

No Koman chief, no sacred martyr, 

Can ye find more brave than he, 
Nor yet the iron men of Sparta, 

Fighting at Thermopylae ; 
When conquering hosts around them crowded, 

Though unmoved, while Persia's king 
The morning sun with arrows shrouded, 

They did not so brave a thing. 



120 THE SIGNAL GUX. 

Go then, and carve his wondrous story 

On a monument of stone ; 
Ye shall see youthful heads grow hoary, 

Ere a nobler deed he done. 
'Mid all the hero's fame has cherished 

Carve his name, — a braver one 
Has never lived, than he who perished 

Standing by that signal gun ! 



121 



BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 



'T was night in Babylon. The summer day 

In orient splendor had departed ; soft, 

Sad Twilight with her purple wing had fanned 

The busy earth to rest, and whispered tales 

Of darkness to the blushing Eve, until 

Her cheek grew pale, and all her glowing charms 

Had faded into moonlight loveliness. 

Nature's warm heart was full of love and joy ; 

Yet, as the night-breeze wanders lightly through 

The airy gardens * of that fated city, 

Wafting along sweet messages of bloom 

And stooping low to kiss the myriad flowers 

* The hanging gardens of Babylon. 



122 BELSIIAZZAIt's FEAST. 

That waved in beauty on those verdant "walls 
There was a dewy tear in every bell, 
As if the fragant spirits in their dreams 
Had caught the music of its song — and wept. 
And even as the earth was bright witli bloom, 
When Darkness waved her wand, as if beneath 
Some potent spell, the sapphire fields of Heaven 
Grew bright with splendor, blooming with suit lid it 
As if some angel from the Aidenn far 
Had swiftly fled athwart the sky, and dropped 
The shining blossoms from his starry crown. 
And then the moon looked forth through fleecy 

clouds, 
As pure and beautiful as some young nun 
Whose pale, sad face is but half shrouded by 
The dim, soft shadows of her snowy veil ; 
And, holy as her smile, the moonlight fell 
To earth, and floated in a silvery mist 
Upon the fragrant air, like fairy dreams 
Thai rise and weave their spells around tin* soul 
Of some young sleeper; or caughl softly on 



belshazzar's feast. 123 

The spray of fountains, ever gushing up 
From beds of purest, loveliest Parian stone, 
The night-beams gleamed and glittered in their play 
Like sparkling fancies that flit wildly through 
The haunted chambers of a poet's brain. 
Even as the grim and ghastly images 
Which impious hands had reared, as 't were to mock 
The Eternal God, that radiant summer moon 
Looked calmly down, as if the spirit of 
The universe were all too beautiful 
To frown — though e'en upon idolatry. 
Forth from Belshazzar's palace came the sound 
Of music and of mirth ; — they needed not 
The moonlight there, for courts and columns were 
All crimsoned with the rosy light that stole 
From the high windows of the banquet-hall, 
As if the cold and stainless marble in 
Its purity had blushed to hear the song 
And jests and laughter of the impious feast. 
Vases and costly cups were on the board, 
And King Belshazzar in his glory stood 



124 belshazzar's feast. 

Before a thousand lords, and quaffed red wine 
From out a jewelled goblet, giving praise 
To gods of gold, of silver, and of stone. 
Belsliazzar ! woe unto thy wicked pride, 
Thyself the idol of an impious, 
Yile multitude. Dost dream thou art immortal ? 
Vain man ! dost think thyself almighty, in 
Thy wild, fierce reign of glory and of power ? 
What is thy greatness, misguided king ! 
Before the God whom thou hast deemed thyself 
Too powerful to fear ? What are thy gems, 
Thy palaces, and glittering vesture now 
Within His sight, whose everlasting home 
Is in the blue and airy chambers of 
Immensity ; whose treasures are the stars. 
The countless systems, and (In 1 burning suns 
Of heaven ; \\ hose smile illumes the universe 
Which sprung from chaos at His awful word ; 
Whose breath unfolds tin' lily's silvery bell, 
And siii-s the might; fountains of the deep ; 
Whose love is life t<» sainis in heaven, \>i falls 



belshazzar's feast. 125 

To earth unsullied in its purity ? 

Frail, mortal man ! what seemest thou to Him 

Whose lifetime is eternity ? 

And mark ! 
Thy doom is writ in fiery letters on 
The wall, and thou dost see that spirit hand; 
For lo ! the cup has fallen, and the wine 
Is spilled. Where is thy pride, thy glory, and 
Thy greatness now ? Why does the crimson tide 
Of life seem frozen round thy heart, and why 
Does thy tall, noble form now tremble like 
A frail and blasted tree that quakes beneath 
The fury of the whirlwind's chainless wrath ? 
In vain thou callest the Chaldeans now, 
To read that strange and burning prophecy ; 
For see, they too stand tremblingly and pale, 
As, dumb with terror, they gaze eagerly 
And fearfully upon those words of flame. 
Thy soothsayers are full wise, Belshazzar, yet 
What is their boasted wisdom worth, when called 



126 belshazzar's feast. 

To solve the mysteries of the Eternal God ? 
Vain as a flickering taper held aloft 
To light the darkened air at midnight hour. 
Send for the man of God, that he may read 
The monarch's doom : " Belshazzar, woe to thee ! 
Thy King and Judge supreme has weighed thee well 
And found thee wanting, and thy kingdom 
Shall pass from thee away." 

The moon went down, 
But when the bright and laughing morn awoke 
With balmy breath the myriad lovely flowers 
Of Babylon, and stirred the silken folds 
Of her high marble halls, there was a sound 
Of mourning in that fair and regal city, 
For her proud King Belshazzar was no more. 



127 



LINES TO A BEIDE 



Thy life is in its early spring, 

Thy heart is pure, thy love is blest ; 
Joy hath not drooped her rainbow wing, 

Or donbt disturbed thy spirit's rest. 
No tear has dimmed the glowing blush 

That flits in beauty o'er thy cheek ; 
There is no thought thy soul would hush, 

Or thy red lip grow pale to speak. 

No withering memory comes to burn 
Thy heart, — no vain regrets to fall 

Like mildew on its flowers, and turn 
Thy cup of happiness to gall. 



128 LINES TO A BRIDE. 

Thy laughter has a sunny beam, 

That glistens in thy soft, dark eye, — 

Not the cold glare of lights that stream 
In splendor from a polar sky. 

Their startling beauty wears the glow 

That summer sunsets often wear, 
But all beneath is ice and snow, 

For summer has no dwelling there ; — 
So like the mocking smile which art 

Has taught to wear the guise of mirth, 
And beam above a ruined heart, 

A spirit all alone on earth. 

But thy glad heart has never known 

How sad it is to cherish there 
The phantom of a joy that 's flown, 

And bid it smile upon despair. 
Thou hast not fled from .Memory \vt. 

Or felt, beneath her God-like power, 
'Twere sometimes better to forgel 

Long years — than to recall one hour. 



LINES TO A BRIDE. 129 

Where love's enchanted waters flow, 

While thy pure spirit stooped to drink, 
Its clear depths caught thy beauty's glow, 

And held thee trembling on the brink, — 
As when above some calm, deep lake 

The lily bends her silvery bell, 
Its waves grow brighter as they take 

That lily in the lake to dwell. 

How tremblingly the blue deep seems 

To clasp her image in the dawn, 
As if afraid to wake from dreams 

And find its spotless treasure gone. 
thus may love a vigil keep, 

To guard thy guileless heart from ill ; 
And if that heart should wake to weep, 

May love be watching o'er it still. 



130 



A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR 



I had a strange, wild dream, — and as I dreamed, 

Methought I stood within a ruin gray, 
Where broken columns in the moonlight gleamed, 

Telling a tale of splendor and decay. 
Its dome was shattered, and the solemn sky 

Looked calmly down upon the crumbling wall. 
And a dim robe of shadows seemed to lie 

Upon it sadly, like a funeral pall. 

Relics of beauty and of pride were there, 
Statues, the fruit of study and of toil, 
All crushed and blackened, — they were none too 

lair 
For the relentless toueli of Time to spoil. 



A DREAM OF THE OLD TEAR. 131 

Pictures, which, glowing in their new-born hues, 
Had seemed to breathe beneath the painter's 
eye, 

Now torn and moulded by the damp of dews, 
From out their ruined frames hung mournfully. 

Fragments of crystal urns and vases set 

"With antique jewels were all scattered there, 
And I could fancy that there lingered yet 

A scent of dying flowers upon the air ; 
But lizards crawled upon the marble floor, 

And the wild shriek of an ill-omened bird 
Smote on my ear, where oft in days of yore 

Voluptuous strains of music had been heard. 

Mirrors, that seemed but formed to multiply 
The matchless form of beauty, and beguile 

The speaking glances of a soul-lit eye 

To gaze enraptured on its own bright smile, 

Now from the walls in broken beauty gleamed ; 
And as the moonbeams pale and coldly bright 



132 A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 

Upon each shattered surface shone, they seemed 
Reflected with a strange and ghastly light. 

And fear was stealing on rne, as I stood 
■ Within that ruined palace all alone, 
When a deep sound as of a rushing flood 

Was heard, and then a low and wailing tone 
Of dirge-like music woke the slumbering air, 

As a tall spectral shape came sweeping by. 
It was old Father Time, and he was there 

To see another of his children die. 

And with him came a bent and withered form, 

Whose hoary locks were whiter than the veil 
Of spotless snow that clothes the winter storm ; 

His eye was fixed, his furrowed cheek was pale. 
"'Tis well," said Time, "that thou hast wan- 
dered here 

To fill thy doom, and mingle with the pa-t ; 
'Mid fallen splendor, O departing year] 

'Tis meet, that thou shouldst oome t<> breathe 
thy last. 



A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 133 

" And tell me, in thy journey o'er the earth, 

Have joys or sorrows in thy pathway sprung ? 
Has thy short pilgrimage been cheered with mirth, 

Or mournful wailings in thine ear been rung ? 
Unroll the secrets of thy breast before 

Thy mighty heart is pulseless, and the breath, 
Which is thy spring of life, shall come no more, 

Stopped by the suffocating chill of death." 

And the Old Year replied, " My life has been 

Varied and changing as the shapeless air : 
More misery than bliss on earth I 've seen, — 

"Woes born before me are still scowling there. 
I 've looked on pleasures, but to see them live 

As gaudy insects, born amid the light, 
To glitter for a moment, and then give 

Their brief existence to be quenched in night. 

" I 've watched the peasant toil in thankfulness, 
More happy and contented on his way 

Than those who in rich robes of purple dress, 
Still fare most sumptuously every day. 



134 A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 

I have seen sorrow in its bitterness, 

Yet cheered by hopes, look up, and smile again, 
And poverty and want and wretchedness 

Live on, to know that hoping was in vain. 

" I 've looked on love, constant, devoted love, 

Relic of Eden's first and purer bliss, 
Sullied by earth, but stolen from above, 

The brightest talisman of happiness. 
Power may fall and fortune pass away, 

Beauty may fade, and weeping dim the eye. 
Yet on life's desert love still sheds its ray. 

One mortal spark of immortality ! 

"I've seen the tyrant, with an iron will, 

His vigil o'er a noble people keep: 
Crushed, but unconquered, 1 have left them, still 

Too brave to tremble, and too proud to weep. 
I've watched the spirit of a Union cease 

From struggling, and the angels smile above 
To see I lolumbia's bosom resl in peace, 

Warmed bj the beams of fellowship and love. 



A DREAM OF THE OLD YEAR. 135 

" I leave a nation writhing in the throes 

Of anarchy, where striving factions start 
The fire of hate, and call up petty wars 

To burn and rankle in her mighty heart. 
would the dauntless spirit that has fled 

Could quit the tomb once more in might to 
reign ! 
"Weep, France, — the glory which Napoleon shed 

Around thy greatness ne'er will beam again !" 

He paused, and from the hoary wing of Time, 

Lo ! as I looked, a drooping pinion fell, 
When on the midnight air a distant chime 

Tolled mournfully the Old Year's funeral knell ! 
There was a rushing sound, a plaintive cry : 

To the dim vault of ages it had past, 
A speck, an atom in eternity, 

Of many a mortal's years in life, the last. 



136 



VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 



Oh ! often in dreams, with the spirit-like motion 
And shadowy form of a sea-nymph, I glide, 
Far down through the mystical realms of the 

ocean, 
To caves where the sea-gods their rich treasures 

hide. 

My palace is built of the crystals that tower, 
Like mountains of diamond, beneath the blue 

wave, 
My robes are as light as the foam-clouds that 

shower 
Their emerald spray where the sea-lilies Lave. 



VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 137 

'Mid gardens of coral strange glow-worms are 

shining, 
As stars through the red clouds at eventide shine, 
And spirit-like blossoms their white bells are 

twining 
In grottos of amber far under the brine. 

And oft, through these grottos and coral-groves 

stealing, 
I 've caged their rare glow-worms to light up my 

home, 
Each one, in the cup of a blossom, revealing 
The jewels which flashed from my crystalline 

dome. 

But sad are my dreams when the storm-king is 

bearing 
Some tall-masted bark through the billowing deep, 
When fiends of the tempest her white sails are 

tearing, 
And when the brave mariner sleeps his last sleep. 



138 VISION'S OF THE DEEP. 

I 've seen the proud sailor-boy struggle and lan- 
guish, 

And lose his last grasp and sink sadly to rest, 

While thoughts of his home and his mother's 
deep anguish 

Were keen as the wild pangs of death in his breast. 

Though far from him then, yet her wild prayer 

beseeching 
I knew had gone up to the God of the storm, 
And her love through the distance and darkness 

seemed reaching 
To light the black waters which closed o'er his form. 

Yet lo ! when I sought for him under the billow. 
Green sea-snakes were twined through his beau} 

(il'ul curls ; 
But I slew them, and planted white shells round 

his pillow, 
And wreathed his pale brow with a chaplel of 

pearls. 



VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 139 

I 've been where the strong ship lies shattered 

and moulding, 
Where skeletons cling round the desolate wreck, 
And hideous monsters their revels are holding, 
'Mid relics of death on the moss-covered deck. 

Through dim, mournful cities I ofttimes seem 

gliding, 
Which earthquakes have hurled to a billowy grave, 
And left their white ruins all stealthily hiding, 
Like spectres of splendor far under the wave 

I 've gazed upon one of which earth has no story, 
Now dreary and voiceless, — once joyous and 

proud, — 
The corpse of a city, in funeral glory, 
A pale beauty wrapped in the ocean's blue shroud. 

I 've stood in strange caves, where the gold sand 

lay gleaming, 
Like atoms of sunshine from summer's soft sky, 



140 VISIONS OF TEE DEEP. 

As if they had fallen all broken and beaming, 
Beneath the cold water in rains to lie. 

And fountains there are, from these golden sands 

gushing, 
Whose bubbles flash up with a splendor as bright 
As stars which we see through the blue ether 

rushing, 
Like drops swept away from the rivers of light. 

And shadowy beings dwell under the ocean, 
With feelings that mingle in sadness or mirth ; 
There are lovers, and vows of unchanging de- 
votion, 
Oft broken, alas ! as the vows on this earth. 

But dear to my heart is my wave-beaten dwell- 
ing, 
[ts jewel-crowned chambers are wondrously fair, 
And sweet is the music eternally swelling 
From the magical harps of the sea-maidena there. 



VISIONS OF THE DEEP. 141 

And oft, from these wild dreams of beauty awak- 
ing, 
Vain tears in my spirit's still chamber are shed, 
Like foam in the heart of a sea-flower breaking, 
When all its bright petals are withered and dead. 



142 



TWO DREAMS 



I slept, and dreamed, a strange, bright dream, 

At least with beauty bright ; 
But Paradise would often seem 

Less fair to woman's sight 
Than desert wastes, if she must gaze 

On Paradise alone, 
And tread the desert's cheerless ways 

With a beloved one. 

Far through the moonlit realm of sleep 

My spirit winged its way, 
To where, on heaven's blue, wavelesa deep, 

A starry island lay. 



TWO DREAMS. 143 

Like some vast gem of peerless light, 
From God's rich casket flung, 

Upon the proud, dark brow of Night 
That burning planet hung. 

As if an angel's hand,' at even, 

Had snatched the brightest beam 
From every other star of heaven, 

In one vast orb to gleam, 
And countless broken rainbows caught 

From unknown worlds afar, 
And all their glowing colors wrought 

Around that matchless star. 

And as athwart this tide of beams 

In trembling haste I flew 
To the fair Aidenn of my dreams, 

A rosy splendor grew 
Upon my spirit's silvery wings, 

As sunlight round a cloud 
Which o'er the east at morning flings 

Its pale and misty shroud. 



144 TWO DREAMS. 

But as I passed the golden gate 

Of that enchanted isle, 
My spirit turned to seek its mate, 

And languished for thy smile. 
In a strange land, o'er which there seemed 

A spell of beauty thrown, 
And 'mid a fairy throng, I dreamed — 

That I was all alone. 

As a frail lily, pale and fair, 

Torn from its native stream, 
And planted in some rich parterre, 

Where brighter blossoms beam, 
"Will droop and fade beside the rose, 

And pine to be once more 
Where the deep, rippling water flows 

Along its native shore ; — 

Thus in that fairy land above 

No light my soul could sec ; 
Where all was light and life and love. 

My spirit pined for thee : 



TWO DREAMS. 145 

And when rare forms of beauty came 

Around me to rejoice, 
I fled away and breathed thy name 

With wild and trembling voice. 

Strange fruits along my pathway grew, — 

Blossoms, like living gems, 
All moistened by eternal dew, 

Hung sparkling on their stems ; 
And birds, whose wings seemed formed of light, 

That airy realm did throng, 
Still weaving, in their endless flight, 

Undying wreaths of song. 

But what were birds and bloom to me ? 

Or what the golden sand 
That fringed a waving, crystal sea, 

In that enchanted land ? 
I tarried not to pluck the fruit, 

Or wander by the sea, 
For every chord of joy was mute, 

When severed thus from thee. 

10 



146 TWO DREAMS. 

And, sad and wearied then, I dreamed 

I sat me down to mourn, 
When by some spell my vision seemed 

Of its vain glories shorn. 
And when I wandered on once more, 

'T was through a desert wide, 
And by a bleak and lonely shore, 

But thou wert by my side. 

"Within the dimmest star of heaven, 

Methought we dwelt alone, 
A star for ever onward driven, 

Still drifting from the sun ; 
And Winter, with his frozen girth, 

That pale, sad planet bound, 
As if upon its cheerless birth 

The Eternal One had frowned. 

A living darkness hovered there, 
Like ravens round a tomb. 

And silence seemed to haunt the air 
Till it was mute with gloom ; 



TWO DREAMS. 147 

From Nature's breast no murmur came 

Of music or of mirth, 
The winds were bound, the ocean tame, 

And voiceless as the earth. 

Upon that shore no summer beamed, 

No blossom e'er had grown, 
But thou wert near, and sunlight seemed 

Along my pathway thrown ; 
And on that bleak and frozen strand, 

And by that dismal sea, 
I never sighed for Fairy-land, 

Where I had wept for thee. 



148 



I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE. 



Foeget thee ! ah, ray heart, how vain 

Thus wildly to have spoken ! 
The brightest link in memory's chain 

May not be rudely broken. 
The spell of thy dark, lustrous eye 

Is on my spirit yet, 
Thy voice of deep-toned melody 

I never can forget. 

And as some sweet, forsaken lute, 
My heart is hushed and still, 

Its silver chords are over mute, 
Save when for thee they thrill; 



I NEVER CAN FORGET THEE. 149 

Then, softly as a Siren's song 

Where troubled billows roll, 
Glad thoughts of love are swept along 

The ocean of my soul. 

And oh ! however dark and wild 

My wayward heart may be, 
'T is bright as if an angel smiled 

"Whene'er I think of thee ; 
Often in visions fair it seems 

We meet, no more to sever, 
And, chained by such enchanting dreams, 

I fain would sleep for ever. 

One single look of love from thee 

To my fond heart is worth 
More than a whole eternity 

Of homage from the earth. 
I 've sought the brightest star of even 

To name and love for thee, 
And, though a million gem the heaven, 

It beams alone for me. 



150 I NEVER CAN FORGET TUEE. 

Upon me ever seems to shine 

Its pure and steady ray, 
As 't were thy spirit meeting mine 

When thou art far away. 
There is a blossom of the heart 

Which absence cannot blight, 
Though one by one the beams depart 

That nursed it into light. 

yes ! sweet memory's rose will shed 

Its delicate perfume, 
When each glad ray of hope has fled 

That lit its early bloom ; 
The star I love shall beam for me, 

The rose shall blossom yet, 
For I cannot cease to love thee, 

And never will forget. 



151 



MORNING. 



I saw the young Morn in her beauty unfolding 
Her radiant wings by the portals of Night, 
And from the dark threshold her vesture upholding, 
Her silver gray vesture, all dripping with light. 

Dim shades of the darkness still hovered around her, 
As pensive thoughts cling round a heart full of joy ; 
Yet the exquisite girdle of shadows that bound her 
But softened the splendor it could not destroy. 

As a wild Moorish lover in fondness adorning, 
With one matchless gem, some fair, golden-haired 
girl, 



152 



I saw Night clasp on the rich zone of the Morning, 
The star of the east, like an orient pearl. 

Far along the horizon, her footsteps -were breaking 
The clouds, as she passed, with a pathway of beams, 
And a drowsy perfume from those black poppies. 

shaking, 
That grow round the mystical palace of dreams. 

When, quick she flung open its wide jetty portals, 
And forth came those visions fantastic and light, 
Whose fragrant wings, fanning the slumber of 

mortals, 
Dissolve the enchantments and spells of the night. 

And then, half reluctant, the Night seemed re- 
treating, 

Half mournfully, too, as if spurned from her side, 

And pale grew his cheek, as, with warm kisses 
greeting, 

The Sultan of day called the Morning his bride. 



MORNING. 153 



That fair pearly star, at his feet she cast down, 
And, like a proud woman coquetting, bent over 
And blushed, as she knelt for the Sun's golden 
crown. 

Then from nature's great choir an anthem came 

swelling, 
And flowery censers the earthly breeze swung, 
While moments of sunshine the young Morn was 

telling, 
As rich, perfumed beads in her rosary strung. 

To the courts of his azure-roofed temple ascending, 
Like a high-priest of heaven, I saw the Sun greet 
The earth with his blessing ; a devotee bending, 
The beautiful earth seemed to kneel at his feet. 



154 



THE PORTRAIT. 



I saw a stately woman gaze 

Upon a portrait fair, 
And I knew that she dreamed of other days, 
While soft and warm the sunset's mellow rays 

Wove through its golden hair. 

That pictured hair ! — so life-like beamed 

Its mocking beauty now, 
That the evening breeze from the casement seemed 
To stir the wealth of clustering curls that gleamed 

Above his noble brow. 



THE PORTRAIT. 155 

The painter's high, mysterious art 

Had caught the eloquence 
Of the speaking eye ; — and the gazer's heart 
Still through her snowy bosom seemed to start 

Beneath its thrilling glance. 

She was a fair and queenly one, 

In the summer of her years, 
But a dark, dark thread through her fate was 

spun, 
And the early bloom of her heart had run 

To a harvest-time of tears. 

She looked as cold and calm and proud 

As the moon at eventide, 
And her soul was hid from the careless crowd, 
As the moon in a fold of fleecy cloud 

Its purity will hide. 

Amid the gay throng often seen, 
With many to admire 



156 THE PORTRAIT. 

Her strange cold beauty, she had ever been 
Like that rare gem beneath -whose pearly chain 
Flashes a heart of fire. 

And while around that portrait grew 

Fond memories the while, 
A light seemed kindling in his eye of blue, 
A lifelike light, as if the picture knew 

She loved to see it smile. 

And bliss, half real, seemed to spring 

As (heedless of the past) 
Her spell-bound heart leaped wildly up, to cling 
To that unreal, dumb, beguiling thing, 

A mockery to the last. 

The very shadow of a dream, — 

Lost ! gone for many a year ! — 
Yet did that image still, though voiceless, teem 
With memories, which made its beauty seem 
Too real and too dear. 



THE PORTRAIT. 157 

The brow, the eye, the lip, were there, 
Undimmed, unchanged by time, 
And a tear dropped down on the shining hair, 
As low she stooped to kiss the forehead fair : 
Was that lady's love a crime ? 

How strange that destiny should twine 

A coronal for her 
Of beauty, and of genius half divine, 
Yet blight her life, — and leave their light to shine 

Above a sepulchre ! 

The petted idol of a throng 

'T was sad that one regret 
Should linger in that lady's heart so long, 
To chill its mirth, and hush life's morning song : 

Why had they ever met ? 



158 



I WANDERED FORTH. 



I wandered forth one day in spring, 

With heart as fresh and free, 
And spirits light, as the zephyr's win< 

That swept the greenwood tree. 
Then, hope was in each bursting bud, 

And joy in every beam 
That lit the ocean's rolling flood, 

Or danced upon the stream. 

The smile on Nature's sunny face 
Was mirrored in my soul, 

As fancy seemed a path to trace, 
Which lured to pleasure's goal. 



I WANDERED FORTH. 159 

I dreamed that all the earth was filled 

With beauty, love, and truth, 
As my warm heart with rapture thrilled : — 

Such was the Spring of youth. 

Again I wandered forth alone 

One brilliant summer morn : 
A richer garb o'er earth was thrown 

Than laughing Spring had worn ; 
A deeper tint was in the sky, 

And flowers embalmed the air, 
Which, late as I had wandered by, 

Were scarcely budding there. 

And changed the light within mine eye, 

As thoughts too dear to speak 
Deepened like Summer's glowing sky 

The blushes on my cheek. 
Still my young heart was light and gay, 

But not so blithe and free 
As when I roved in early May 

Beneath the greenwood tree. 



160 I WANDERED FORTH. 

For love upon my soul had breathed, 

And changed (as in an hour) 
Each bud of joy which hope had wreathed 

Into a glowing flower. 
And the beauty now of earth and sky 

A wilder gladness woke, 
And the streamlet, as it murmured by, 

A different language spoke. 

I wandered forth at Autumn eve, 

But ah ! how changed the scene ! 
For Nature sadly smiled to leave 

Her paradise of green, 
And mournful seemed each forest-tree, 

Though rich its garb and gay 
As beauty's cheek, which oft we see 

Brightest in its decay. 

My spirit, too, had known a change, 

Its freshness all was fled ; 
For some I loved were cold and si range. 

And some were with the dead. 



I WANDERED FORTH. 161 

A shadow o'er my soul had swept, 

And as I wandered on 
Amid the falling leaves, I wept 

O'er joys for ever gone. 

And clouds, which in the early spring 

Had passed unheeded by, 
A stormy darkness seemed to fling 

O'er Autumn's mellow sky. 
The glow of Summer's parting hour 

Had left its bloom behind, 
But now I feared in every flower 

Some canker-worm to find. 

I wandered forth, once more alone, 

When "Winter's breath blew chill : 
The rose had drooped, the gay bird flown, 

And frozen was the rill. 
While on that spot where pleasure's birth 

Had taught my heart to dream 
Even sunlight o'er the blighted earth 

In sadness seemed to beam. 
11 



162 I "WANDERED FORTH. 

But evergreens are often found 

'Mid wreaths of frost and snow, 
And streamlets with a mournful sound 

Beneath the ice may flow. 
And oh ! one sympathizing tear 

Will soothe the pangs of grief, 
As freshly gleams where all is drear 

The ivy's fadeless leaf. 

My heart so blithe in Spring's light hour, 

In Summer soft and warm, 
Had found in Autumn's cloud and flower 

The canker-worm and storm. 
But now how sweet it is to know, 

When Winter winds have blown, 
And the stream of joy has ceased to flow, 

I shall not weep alone ! 



163 



A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. 



He is gone, — gone for ever ! go muffle the bell, 

Go weep, for few spirits like his shall depart ; 
Let the loud, mournful wail of a great nation tell 

The grief that has shaken a nation's strong heart. 
And bend the bright banner of Freedom o'er him, 

So willing to guard it, so mighty to save ; 
Be its proud staff unshaken, its stars never dim, 

Save when drooping, and moistened with tears 
at his grave. 

In the midst of a tempest that threatened to tear 
The bonds of our mighty republic in twain, 

Like a guardian angel his genius was there, 
To gather the links and unite them again. 



164 A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAT. 

All ! well may the heart of Columbia mourn ; 

An orb from her bright constellation has sped, 
An oak from her forest of greatness is torn, 

A hue from her rainbow of glory has fled. 

Bring music, loud music ! the trumpet and drum, 

The flute's bird-like numbers, the bugle's wild 
strain ; 
To weep by his bier let the multitude come, 

For when shall they mourn o'er such greatness 
again ? 
His clear eye is darkened, his eloquence hushed, 

His voice in the Senate no longer shall thrill ; 
The censer is broken, the viol is crushed, 

But the incense and music are lingering still. 

As the mariner's compass still points to the pole, 
Through the fury of waves, and the hurricane's 
blast, 
A magnet of love in the Statesman's great soul 
Still turned towards his country, unchanged to 
the last. 



A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. 165 

His spirit lias left you, and gone to its home : 
Kneel, children of Freedom, and weep o'er his 
dust ; 

Go, call for another, but whence shall he come ? 
There are many to answer, but few ye can trust. 

Go, gather a branch from the evergreen pine 
That has braved the swift whirlwind, and tem- 
pests of years, 
And from its strong fibres a fresh garland twine 

To rest on his coffin, all moist with your tears. 

For he stood in the midst of dissension unmoved, 

'Neath the lightning of hatred, unscathed by 

its shock, 

While his heart ever clung to the Union he loved, 

As the roots of the pine-tree entwine round the 

rock. 

The strong bark is shattered, — its wreck has 
swept on, 
Where the billows of death in their mournful- 
ness flow ; 



1G6 A DIRGE FOR HENRY CLAY. 

The rudder is lost, and the Pilot has gone 

Where the winds of adversity never can blow. 
The tall mast lies broken, and rent is the sail 
That swept o'er life's ocean, so proud and so 
free, 
For the spirit that ruled them has fled where no 
gale 
Can ruffle the waves of Eternity's sea. 

He is gone ! — but his genius has kindled a fire 

In the Temple of Fame, — on Columbia's shore 
A beacon of glory, that cannot expire 

Till truth be forgotten, and Freedom's no more. 
The proud marble column, the urn, and the bust, 

May blacken, and totter and fall to decay ; 
The monuments o'er him may crumble to dust, 

But never shall perish the memory of Clay. 



167 



THE MIDNIGHT PRAYEE. 



'Mid the deep and stifling sadness, the stillness 
and the gloom, 

That hung a veil of mourning round my dimly- 
lighted room, 

I heard a voice at midnight, in strange tones of 
anguish, say, 

"Come near me, dearest mother! Now, my 
God, O let me pray ! " 

And soft as vesper music, wailing sadly through 

the air, 
In plaintive utterance, then tolled forth his simple 

evening prayer ; 



168 THE MIDNIGHT PRATER. 

The same sweet hymn his lisping tongue so oft to 

me had said, 
When, but an infant still, he knelt beside his 

cradle bed. 

Methought the Almighty's love must bless that 

graceful little vine, 
Whose budding tendrils I had taught around His 

throne to twine. 
Methought an angel's gentle hand the silver chime 

did toll, 
That called to prayer each thought within the 

temple of his soul. 

And by the tearful beaming of his eyes I seemed 
to trace 

The spiritual worshippers within that holy place, 

As solemn light will sometimes through cathe- 
dral windows pour, 

And reveal the pale nuns kneeling upon a mar- 
ble floor. 



THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER. 169 

A radiance seemed to gather o'er his mournful 

face the while, 
Like starlight stealing sadly down a consecrated 

aisle, 
And round his pale, high forehead hung a halo, 

soft and faint, 
As falls from holy tapers on the image of a 

saint. 

And that frail, suffering, patient child, so full of 
faith divine, 

His soul lit up with holiness, — that saint-like boy 
was mine ; 

And like the broken chrysalis, my heart was only 
probed 

To see its nursling heavenward spring, in shin- 
ing vesture robed. 

He prayed, — and dumb with anguish did my 
trembling spirit wait, 

Till that low wail had entered at the everlasting- 
gate ; 



170 THE MIDNIGHT PRATER. 

And then I cried, " Father ! throngs of angels 

dwell with thee, 
And he is thine, — but leave him yet a little while 

with me ! 

" Two buds has Azrael plucked from out the gar- 
den of my love, 

And placed them in the living wreath that spans 
thy throne above ; 

Twice o'er love's consecrated harp have swept his 
cold, dark wings, 

And when I touch it now, alas ! there are two 
broken strings. 

" Twice have his strong, sharp arrows pierced the 
lambs within my fold, 

And now in his unerring grasp another shaft be- 
hold ! " 

Two prayers went up at midnight, — and tbe Last 
so full of woe, 

That God did break the arrow set in Azracl's 
shilling I low. 



171 



THE PLAGUE. 



Pkoud city, why, in sadness bending, 

Droops so low thy stately head ? 
Is some wild grief thy strong heart rending ? 

Is thy great spirit crushed with dread ? 
Have conquering armies in their madness 

Torn the crescent from thy brow ? 
Have tyrants hushed thy voice of gladness, 

That thou art so silent now ? 

A summer sky is o'er thee shining, 
Summer roses round thee bloom : 

Why art thou desolate and pining 
'Neath a sullen weight of gloom ? 



172 THE PLAGUE. 

While Liberty is o'er thee keeping 

Her untiring vigil yet, 
"Why art thou stricken thus, and weeping, 

As if Freedom's star had set ? 

Alas ! thou canst not see its glory, 

Blinded now by many tears, 
For days have told thy heart a story 

That shall echo there for years. 
Each trembling moment, dark with horror, 

Whispers forth a funeral chime, 
And lingers but to stamp fresh sorrow 

On the crumpled scroll of time. 

A spectral form is near thee gliding, 

Stealthily, with icy breath, 
In stately halls and hovels hiding, 

Winged by pestilence and death ; 
And vainly is Columbia grieving 

O'er thy desolation now - . 
For Destiny's dark hand is weaving 

Wreaths of cypress for tliy brow. 



THE PLAGUE. 173 

To yonder mansion proud and splendid 

Came last night a merry throng, 
And as the glowing hours descended, 

They were crowned by mirth and song. 
But now, with sunlight o'er them glancing, 

Garlands mock that festal hall, 
For where bright forms so late were dancing 

Rest the coffin and the pall. 

Tread lightly by that shrouded maiden : 

She was beautiful, last night, 
As summer clouds with sunshine laden ; 

Cheek, and brow, and eye were bright; 
Her lips were like red blossoms bending 

Fresh beneath an April rain, 
Where death and foul decay now, blending, 

Leave that green and ghastly stain. 

The graceful willow-tree has striven 
Vainly with the lightning's shock, 

The sparkling crystal has been riven 
Rudely from its native rock. 



174 THE PLAGUE. 

Then let the raging tempest shiver 
In its wrath the strong oak too, 

And let the granite's rough heart quiver, 
Where that spotless crystal grew. 

Weep not for her, — the Llack form lingers. 

Still unglutted, hovering nigh, 
With fiery tongue and clammy fingers, 

And a wild and sleepless eye. 
That smitten one so fondly cherished 

From his wrath ye strove to hide ; 
Why tarry here ■ — when she has perished ? 

Go with her, — the grave is wide. 

The work is done : their splendor only 

He has left, — their life is gone ; 
Those glittering halls are cold and lonely, 

And the spectre passes on. 
Beneath his curse 'tis hard to languish, 

E'en with friends and fortune nigh, 
But God alone can know the anguish 

Of the countless poor thai die. 



THE PLAGUE. 175 

111 yonder dwelling damp and cheerless 

See the lonely dead again, 
A woman fair, and pure, and peerless, 

Stricken down by want and pain. 
Death spared her child, — his scythe was reeking, 

And he left it on her breast, 
Now dry, and dark, — a young dove seeking 

Food in its deserted nest. 

Oh ! bravely had her spirit striven, 

Reft of hope, till in despair 
It fled on Mercy's wing to Heaven, 

With a wild and plaintive prayer. 
And lo ! where angel hosts are singing 

In her home of endless joy, 
That mother's silvery voice is ringing 

Suppliant for her orphan boy. 

On, on, the pestilence is flying ; 

Lay thy forehead in the dust, 
Proud city, for thy heart is crying 

To the God whom good men trust. 



176 THE PLAGUE. 

Thy cup of woe His mercy measures ; 

Then in meekness bow thee down, 
Though tears may dim the harvest treasures 

And the autumn's golden crown. 

Death seems to haunt yon mighty river, 

Moaning wildly in its waves, 
And autumn leaves can scarcely cover 

On that shore ten thousand graves. 
Yet on the black form still is sailing, 

O'er its waters draped in gloom, 
A nation's heart in terror quailing 

At his trumpet-voice of doom. 

Yet hope, — for many bright eyes sleeping, 

Eyes that watched thy woods grow green. 
Are now eternal vigils keeping 

Where no autumn leaves are seen. 
Sad city, though thy brow is shaded, 

Though thy heart is now a tomb, 
Hope on, — for earthly blossoms, faded, 

In the smile of God shall bloom. 



177 



THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 



I saw a stricken eagle droop, 

At eve, his blood-stained wing, 
And, like some wounded warrior, stoop 

Beside a mountain spring. 
Too proud to writhe beneath the shock, 

He gazed upon the sky, 
And with his talons grasped the rock, 

As if too proud to die. 

Methought he seemed far, far from home 
When wounded thus he stood ; 

Not there his mate was wont to come 
And tend her eagle-brood. 
12 



178 THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 

'T was sad to see him all alone 
Beside that mountain spring : 

Proud, as if space were still liis throne, 
He looked — an exiled king. 

An exile from the paths of light 

Where he was wont to soar, 
An exile from the cloud-capt height 

And from the ocean shore, 
No more along the glacier fields 

Shall his wild pinion sweep, 
Or where the avalanche madly reels 

Far down the frozen steep. 

An exile from the Norway pine 

Where he was rocked to rest 
When lightning-wreaths were seen to shine 

Upon the night's dark crest, — 
When tempests sang a Lullaby 

Above his kingly head 
And the black curtains of the sky 

Swept pound lii- lofty bed. 



THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 179 

An exile from the battle-field 

Where oft had poised his wing, 
To gaze upon the blood-stained shield 

And hear the war-cry ring, 
Or 'mid the stars and stripes to see 

His own proud image wave, 
The guardian god of victory, 

Still watching o'er the brave. 

An exile ! — he shall haste no more 

To bathe his flashing eye 
Where the red floods of morning pour 

Their waves along the sky ; 
Or sit in twilight's dewy bowers, 

When falls their purple bloom, 
With evening's wreath of golden flowers 

Upon the daylight's tomb. 

Once more he raised his kingly crest 

And plumed his wing to fly, 
But saw the life-blood of his breast, 

And laid him down to die. 



180 THE WOUNDED EAGLE. 

Brave eagle ! would thou couldst have died 

Upon the battle plain, 
And laid thee t down in lordly pride 

Among the noble slain. 



181 



A FOREST MEMORY. 



In the forest, so dim and olden, 
I stand where we lingered of yore, 

While shadows, half green and half golden, 
Steal down on my pathway once more. 

My pathway ! how mournful it seemeth, 
Though bright with the same forest flowers, 

Though o'er it the same sunlight gleameth, 
The pathway that used to be ours. 

The breeze with a soft voice seems trilling 
Thy name round each quivering leaf, 

And its low, plaintive murmur is filling 
My soul with an echo of grief. 



182 A FOREST MEMORY. 

How radiantly smiled the young morning, 
When last in this deep wood we met ; 

No cloud, as a shadow of warning, 
Upon her fair forehead was set. 

And while (where the sunlight is shining) 
"We stood where yon linden-tree stands, 

Our hearts seemed more fondly entwining 
As closer were clasping our hands. 

The dew on our pathway then glistened 
Like gems on the green robes of June, 

And each summer bird, as we listened, 
Seemed chanting love's favorite tune. 

But now, while the dew-drops are sleeping 
On every wild blossom and tree, 

Methinks the old forest is weeping 
With me, dourest, — weeping for thee. 



A FOREST MEMORY. 183 

And now, their past gladness forgetting, 
The birds all so mournful have grown, 

That every sweet voice seems regretting 
To see me here wandering, alone ! 

So hopeful we were, — so light-hearted, — 
So oft had we met there before, — 

Ah ! how could I dream when we parted 
Of meeting again nevermore ? 

I thought thou wouldst come on the morrow, 
And smiled as I left thee ; — long years 

Have passed, and now oft, in my sorrow, 
I wish we had parted in tears. 

Thou art lost, love ; but memory raises 
The ghost of that time at my call, 

And still, through the dew-laden daisies, 
Thy light step seems near me to fall. 



184 A FOKEST MEMORY. 

And as on this green bank I 'm sitting, 
Thy fingers seem still locked in mine, 

While o'er the soft grass there arc flitting 
Two shadows — and one, love, is thine. 

Each beautiful thing seems a token 
Of that summer morning to me ; 

And ne'er can the sad spell be broken, 
That links this old forest with thee. 



185 



THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 



A fountain there is in the depths of the soul 

So unsullied and free from alloy, 
That it mirrors the grief which we cannot control, 

And grows bright in the sunshine of joy. 
Its crystal waves sleep in the grotto of love, 

Where are springing our hopes and our fears, 
And if gladness, or gloom, its pure waters move, 

We still call it the fountain of tears. 

When feelings of doubt, or the memories of woe, 
In our bosoms may hold their dark reign, 

0, sweet to the heart is that fountain's swift flow, 
And we weep, for it softens our pain. 



186 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 

But when, all unbidden, there gushes a tide 
Of tears from its wild-heaving breast, 

'When hearts that are breaking their sorrow must 
hide, 
0, 't is anguish to hush it to rest ! 

Deep, deep are its waves, in the spirit's still cave ; 

From the rock of affection they start, 
And in its pure depths every feeling we lave 

Is the brightest and best of the heart. 
And often it mirrors the realm of the past, 

"Where the dim clouds of memory roll, 
And dreams of the future upon it are cast 

Through the shadowy light of the soul. 

From childhood's soft eye this strange fountain 
of tears 

Often gushes like bright summer rain ; 
But there it reflects not the sorrow of years, 

And soon glows into gladness again : 
For the heart of a child is as lighl as BOme flower 

That unfolds its ray Leaves in ih<' dawn 



THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS. 187 

To tremble and bend in each glittering shower, 
And look up, ere the moisture be gone. 

But when the rough tempest has shaken its bloom, 

When the young heart is darkened by care, 
When this cold world has taught us that joy has 
a tomb, 

And that hope may be quenched in despair, — 
The tears we then shed are less transient than those 

That gushed when each season seemed spring, 
When feeling was fresh as the heart of a rose 

And as light as a butterfly's wing. 

When destiny's hand has extinguished the beams 

Which had made our existence seem bright, 
When hopes that were cherished are shattered 
like dreams, 

As we watch their frail beauty at night, 
Then tears will steal forth from the spirit's still land 

O'er the desolate waste of the heart, 
As sometimes, perhaps, from the wide burning sand 

Of the desert a fountain will start. 



188 THE FOUNTAIN OF TEAKS. 

And tears that we nurse, as too sacred to shed, 

On the shrine of affection shall gleam, 
As gems in the depths of a cavern arc hid, 

Amid darkness and silence to beam. 
The well of true feeling, the mirror of love, 

Still exhaustless, unsullied by years, — 
From the depths of the spirit no chance can remove 

This mysterious fountain of tears. 



189 



THERE 'S A BREEZE BLOWING OVER 
THE MOUNTAIN. 



Theee 's a breeze blowing over the mountain, 

As fresh and as fragrant to-night 
As the spray drifted off from some fountain 

Of air, in the land of delight. 
A perfume from the wild-wood 't is bringing, 

A breath from each blossom and tree, 
And that wind of the mountain is singing 

A song to my spirit of thee. 

As a stream over silvery sand gushing, 
That breeze from the far mountain-height, 

O'er a pathway of star-beams is rushing, 
And breaking in ripples of light. 



190 there's a breeze blowing 

How cool, how delicious, its murmur, 
And soft, as the voice of the bee 

"When he hums to the roses of summer ! 
How gently it whispers of thee ! 

It has stirred all the tendrils of feeling 

In the vineyard of love with its wings, 
And its exquisite breath is now stealing 

Over Memory's ^Eolian strings ; 
In Fancy's bright garden 'tis shaking 

The fruit from each wondrous tree, 
And while of their sweetness partaking, 

My soul is still dreaming of thee. 

Like that blossom of fabled perfection, 

The dew of whose chalice doth turn 
To diamonds, the bloom of affection 

Will shrine in its delicate urn. 
As a gem, every tear thai is springing, 

While, murmuring softly to mo, 
Still this wild mountain minstrel is bringing 

Sad, beautiful memories of thee. 



OVEE THE MOUNTAIN. 191 

Come, come then, and carol for ever, 

Sweet spirit of air, in my heart ; 
Furl thy light, viewless pinions, and never, 

My bosom-bird, shalt thou depart ! 
Through the spice-groves of Memory rushing — 

Thy wings steeped in fragrance — along, 
And my soul, its own wild music hushing, 

For ever will list to thy song. 



192 



LINES TO A FRIEND. 



Friend of my childhood hours ! thy plaintive 
song 

Softly and sadly o'er my heart 'has swept, 
Awakening chords that have been silent long, 

And at their mournful music I have wept ; 
As a low vesper chant, in some far clime, 

Filling the exile's breast with thoughts of home, 
Fraught with the memory of that joyous time, 

Our spring of life, thy thrilling voice has come. 

And now upon the scroll of vanished years 
With a strange joy 1 gaze, ami pause to trace 



LINES TO A FRIEND. 193 

Through the dim light of smiles, or mist of tears, 
Each cherished scene, and each beloved face, 

(Too many changed, and some, alas ! no more,) 
Till wave on wave these thronging fancies roll, 

And rise, and burst on memory's haunted shore, 
Shedding their broken brightness o'er my soul. 

And now I seem to hear the silver 'tone 

Of voices hushed for ever, and the laugh 
Gushing from gladsome spirits, that have flown, 

While the red lip seemed all too fresh to quaff 
The bitterness of death. And still I see 

Eyes which were once so full of sparkling light, 
We scarce believe that in eternity 

The beam dashed out by time has grown more 
bright. 

And she we loved so well, that happy one 
Whose face was rich with beauty, as an isle 

In some fair southern ocean, where the sun 
Sheds on its verdure a perpetual smile, — 



19-4 LIXES TO A FRIEND. 

There lingers on my spirit yet the glow 

Of noontide lightness which her presence cast 

Upon our sports ; we cared not then to know 
The future, for we judged it by the past. 

But grief sprung up, one cold and shadowy morn, 

And grew to agony within my breast, 
When she, the freshest bud, was roughly torn 

From out the garden of our love, and drest 
In the pale robes of death. It seemed so strange 

That her rich cheek, her darkly flashing eye, 
Should have grown lifeless : 'tis a fearful change, 

From light to darkness, when the young must 
die. 

Another, whose transparent brow was kissed 
By soft and shining waves of auburn hair, 

Passed from our sight, as wreaths of golden misl 
Melting away upon the morning air. 

There was a sadness, spiritually bright, 
In her Strange smile ; ah ! even now it - 



LINES TO A FRIEND. 195 

Shining upon me, like the holy light 
Of angel eyes that look upon oxir dreams. 

A heavenly lustre, stealing from the soul, 

Robed her whole being in its purity, 
And as a silvery orb she seemed to roll 

Above us, through youth's warm, unclouded 
sky. 
But changes came, and severed was the chain 

That linked us in one fair and loving band ; 
And when we yearned to see that star again, 

Lo ! it had risen in a better land. 

0, deem not that my heart can ever be 

So altered as to turn its love away 
From memories like these ! they seem to me 

Glowing and fresh as things of yesterday. 
And often, as my steps still wander by 

That ruined garden, I have wished in vain 
To give a wealth of joys, if you and I 

Could live one day of those lost years again. 



196 LINES TO A FRIEND. 

But gone, for ever gone, is that glad time, 

Of all our life perhaps the brightest part; 
And nothing lingers, save a plaintive chime 

Still echoing the past within my heart. 
Yet, as I strike the harp, 't is sweet to know, 

That in thy breast 'twill wake an answering 
tone, 
For in the midst of this wild, mournful flow 

Of memories — I would not be alone. 

But think not that my spirit can forget 

Aught it has ever loved. Oblivion's wave 
Can never wash the shores of our regret : 

The saddest relics we are ever prone to save 
From every ruin of the breast, and place 

Them tenderly upon our bosom's shrine, 
And when of joy there is not left one trace, 

The threads of life around them seem to twine. 



197 



AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 



Old and lonely, I am sitting 

In my dimly lighted room, 
And the shadowy past comes flitting 

Bound me in the gathering gloom: 
There are shades which, at my calling, 

Within memory's portal wait, 
Pale as are the ashes falling 

From the embers in my grate. 

Pale, beseeching, mournful faces 
Seem to look upon me still 

In the twilight, — they whose places 
On this earth none else could fill. 



198 AN OLD man's musings. 

First, my beauteous, dark-eyed mother, - 
She who nursed my budding years, — 

She who loves man as no other 
Loves him in this vale of tears. 

Even now that love seems crushing 

In my heart the evil weed, 
Every sinful passion hushing, 

Sowing there the goodly seed : 
As when first I knelt before her, 

In her loveliness arrayed, 
When she bade me not adore her 

More than Him to whom I prayed. 

Then my baby heart would wonder, 

When I thought of God, if he, 
Who lit the stars and rolled the thunder, 

Were as beautiful as she ? 
And I wondered, too, at even, 

When her soul in song did swell, 
If the angels up in heaven, 

With their harps, could sing as well ? 



AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 199 

Mother ! though the sunny tresses 

You so loved are frosted now, 
Yet your red lip often presses 

Lingeringly upon my brow ; 
Still your white and slender fingers 

Seem to flutter through my hair, 
Though no golden curl now lingers 

Round the face you thought so fair. 

Ah ! too well do I remember 

Weeping, on that dreadful night, 
When they left you in your chamber 

All alone, so cold and white ! 
When I strove to wake you, mother, 

From that strange and dreamless sleep ; 
And in vain my grief to smother, 

When they told me not to weep. 

How I felt my heart-strings quiver, 

When I saw you lie so still, 
Wondering why you did not shiver, 

For the winter winds blew chill, 



200 AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 

And thin robes -were round you flowing, 
Such as I had seen you wear 

When your eye with mirth was glowing, 
And when jewels decked your hair. 

Then, a cloak, with rosy lining, 

I had watched you clasp at night, 
Where the rich brown curls fell shining 

On your neck so purely white : 
This I folded fondly round you, 

And, still sobbing, crept to bed ; 
But at morn still cold I found you, 

And they told me you were dead ! 

" Dead ! " the muffled bell seemed tolling, 

" Dead ! " I heard the pastor say, — 
Dead ! and then the hearse went rolling 

From our lonely home away. 
Mother! (be the sin forgiven,) 

Then 1 murmured at His will. 
Who, in calling you to heaven, 

Left me here a baby still! 



AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 201 

Other forms now gather round me, 

Children, friends, and kindred dear, 
They whose love to earth once bound me, 

Who have left me lonely here ; 
All are pale, — but memory, bringing 

Bygone blushes, tints each cheek, 
Silent, — but with memories ringing 

Through my soul, they need not speak. 

And my withered heart rejoices, 

"When the lost come back to me, 
As spring-birds, with pleasant voices, 

Singing round a blasted tree : 
And as spicy breezes stealing 

Round some lonely desert palm, 
Does a gush of bygone feeling 

Seem my spirit to embalm, — 

When, from memory's censer wafted, 
Comes that fragrant love which grows, 

On the heart's young tendrils grafted, 
And which " blossoms as the rose." 



202 AN old man's musings. 

She, the goddess of life's morning, 
Smiles upon me through the gloom, 

Twilight's purple shades adorning 
"With a soft and tender bloom. 

Youth's first morning-glory, holding 

Love's own dew within its cup, 
Drooped, — and in its chalice folded 

All life's early freshness up. 
She was to my heart the aloe, 

Blooming once in long, long years, 
"Whose rare fragrance left a halo 

Round the altar of my tears. 

And I see, when I am thinking, 

In my heart her image lie, 
As the limited deer, while drinking, 

Sees the shadow of the sky. 
Though he may be bleeding, dying, 

Yet his dim eye loves to look 
On that bright, blue picture, lying 

In the crystal of the brook. 



AN old man's musings. 203 

Drop the curtain, — close the shutter 

Softly, — shade the night-lamp well: 
" Hush ! " let no intruder utter 

Even one word, to break the spell. 
Nay, 't is vain ! the lamp, though shaded, 

Quenches, with its real beam, 
All the spirit-light, — and faded 

Is the old man's twilight dream! 



204 



WHO MADE THE MOON? 

DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO BROTHERS. 

Q. Brother, who made yon broad, bright Moon. 
And hung it up on high, 
To shine so like a silver lamp, 
Within the silent sky ? 

A. Brother, 'twas God who bade it shine 
To light the darkened air ; 
He made the sun, the sky, the flowers, 
And all that 's bright and fair ; 
He made the birds and butterflies, 
The little humming-bee, 
The deep blue lake and rivulet, 
The vast and soundless sea. 



WHO MADE THE MOON? 205 

Q. Then where is God's own dwelling-place, 
My brother ? is it there 
In yon calm sky ? For mother says 
That God is everywhere. 

A. yes ! the gentle Jesus says 
His home is up above ; 
Yet God's blest Spirit reigns on earth, 
In everlasting love. 
'T is ever near us, and no dark, 
Unholy thought can dim 
The brightness of a human soul, 
That is unknown to Him. 

Q. Then tell me, where has Jesus gone ? 
For mother says, He blest 
Young children here, and prayed for them, 
And laid them on his breast. 

A. Brother, He told us how to live, 
He taught us how to die, 



206 WHO MADE THE MOOX ? 

And then went up to dwell again 

In yonder moonlit sky. 

He came on earth, that we might learn 

His Father's holy will, 

And from that home of endless joy 

Is watching o'er us still. 

Q. And is he then God's blessed Son, 
This Saviour kind and true ? 
I call God " Father," in my prayers, — 
Are we His children too ? 

A. yes ! He calls us all His own ; 
Then let not sin beguile 
Thy spotless soul away from Him, 
But dwell beneath His smile. 
Strive to be pure as yon fair Moon, 
My brother, — let us live, 
That God may bless the good we do, 
And all the ill forgive. 



207 



FAREWELL. 



Farewell ! is there aught on earth 

So mournful as that word, 
When amid scenes of light and mirth 

And music it is heard, 
Whispered by one we love too well, 

And may not meet for years, 
When smiles upon the lip must dwell, 

While the heart is full of tears ? 

Farewell ! farewell ! ah, breathe it not 

Within the banquet hall, 
But in some quiet, lonely spot, 

Where the spirit knows no thrall ! 



208 FAREWELL. 

Where every feeling of the soul 
On love's light wing springs free, 

And the heart may weep without control, 
There let our parting be. 

As music of the restless deep 

Within some ocean cave, 
Where the soft echoes never sleep 

That mock each sighing wave, 
In memory's enchanted cell 

Shall linger every tone, 
Each whispered word of thy farewell 

Be cherished there alone ! 

And from the cavern's sparkling wall 

Bright drops for ever spring, 
That mingle in their ceaseless fall, 

And into crystals cling : 
Thus, word and look and smile of thine 

Have fallen on my heart, 
And thy spirit breathing into mine 

Is of itself a part. 



FAREWELL. 209 

Then linger not, where all is gay, 

To whisper thy farewell, 
Where other eyes in coldness may 

Upon our sorrow dwell. 
'Mid light, and mirth, and beauty's bloom, 

A parting such as ours 
Were mournful as a ruined tomb, 

Surrounded all by flowers. 



210 



AND ART THOU GONE 



And art thou gone ? — Thy gentle eye 

Seems smiling on me yet, 
As evening blushes tinge the sky 

When evening's sun has set ; 
And in my bosom seems to thrill 

Thy last low, parting tone, 
Like summer music lingering still 

When summer birds have flown. 

Return, — my love has never found 

An echo save in thine ; 
The tendrils of thai love around 

No Other heart can twine ; 



AND ART THOU GONE? 211 

Thine image pictures every thought 
That whispers through my soul ; 

Thy fondness o'er my life has wrought 
A spell of sweet control. 

As some proud bird that builds her nest 

Upon a lofty pine, 
My haughty spirit sought for rest, 

And found a home with thine. 
When tempests bend the stately tree, 

That bird will fold her wing, 
And linger there as trustingly 

As 'mid the flowers of spring. 

And thus, should sorrow's sable shroud 

Be folded round thy heart, 
And, hovering o'er thy life, some cloud 

Obscure its sunniest part, 
I would not turn away, or fly 

Where happier scenes might be, — 
I 'd rather watch that darkened sky, 

And brave the storm with thee. 



212 AND ART THOU GONE ? 

Return, — for now I strive to sing 

Thy favorite songs in vain ; 
Each note falls hark with broken wing 

Upon my heart again ; 
And all the joyous thoughts that spring 

In sadness there return, 
To droop, like roses withering, 

Within the spirit's urn. 

And shadows on my pathway lie, 

When far away from thee, 
Like vapors gathering silently, 

At midnight, o'er the sea, — 
Till, with the darkness left alone, 

Each wave will seem as sad 
As if beneath the summer sun 

It never had been glad. 

Bui when the early morn shall bring 

I [er golden censer there, 
And all iis wealth of fragrance fling 

Upon the n akening air, 



AND ART THOU GONE ? 213 

Each billow, with a sparkling crest, 

All blest and bright will seem, 
As if the darkness and the mist 

Had been a troubled dream. 

Thus, when again that smile of thine 

(The morning of my heart) 
Upon its silent depths shall shine, 

The midnight must depart ; 
And joy once more, still fresh and fair, 

Her sweetest incense burn 
Upon love's holy altar, there 

To welcome thy return. 



21-4 



THE BURNING SHIP 



A stately ship, with sails unfurled, 

In beauty swept the ocean ; 
Around her prow the blue waves curled. 

With light and graceful motion. 
Like manhood, on the tide of years 

To joy or sorrow fated, 
Was that proud ship, with hopes and fears 

Within its bosom freighted. 

As a white bird across the sky, 

On, on, the vessel bounded, 
While swelling breezes loud and bigli 

Their ocean music sounded. 



THE BURNING SHIP. 215 

And o'er the deck in splendor flung, 

A wing of glory beaming, 
Like stars upon a rainbow hung, 

Columbia's flag was streaming. 

As the Hindoo will deck his boy, 

The babe his heart should cherish, 
To see him with a wild, strange joy 

In the dark Ganges perish, 
Old Ocean seemed with fickle love 

That stately ship caressing, 
And the rich sunlight from above 

Fell on it like a blessing. 

Upon the deck two beings stood, 

With spirits warm and glowing, 
For through their souls a mighty flood 

Of love and joy was flowing. 
As when two clouds float gently on, 

And meet in rosy lightness, 
Their hearts had mingled into one, 

All purity and brightness. 



216 the busking ship. 

And near tliem a young mother smiled, 

With fund affection gazing, 
"Where to the silken flag her child 

His tiny hand was raising. 
In her fair arms she threw him high 

And laughed with girlish pleasure, 
As the sweet babe would vainly try 

To seize the gaudy treasure. 

A stately form in manhood's pride, 

With look of deep devotion, 
Stood by that joyous creature's side, 

Watching each graceful motion. 
He gazed upon his cherub boy, 

And on the lovely mother : 
His cup was filled with drops of joy, 

It could not hold another. 

An aged man, with silvery hair 
Around his calm brow flowing, 

Gazed on thai group of beauty there 
Till memories rich and glowing, 



THE BURNING SHIP. 217 

Of youth and joy, stole on his heart, 
And those his bosom cherished 

Seemed from the mournful past to start, 
Where all save love had perished. 

On, on, proud ship ! for beauty weaves 

A fairy spell around thee ; 
With buds and flowers and autumn leaves 

The hand of fate has bound thee, 
As for some blithesome holiday. 

Even age forgets its sorrow, 
Childhood, youth, manhood, all are gay, — 

Where shall they be to-morrow ? 

Dream on, young lovers ! sunset bright 

In yonder wave is sinking, 
And its last draught of pure delight 

Your mingled love is drinking. 
Gaze, gentle mother, on thy child, 

For soon it shall be sleeping, 
And ocean billows fierce and wild 

O'er its cold bed be sweeping. 



218 THE BURNING SHIP. 

Manhood, look fondly, gladly on, 

Steep thy proud soul in pleasure : 
That wife, that hoy, will soon he gone ; 

Cling to thy heart's rich treasure. 
Old man, life has no charm for thee. 

Thy hopes on earth are riven ; 
Then plume thy spirit's wings, and flee 

To those thou lov'st in heaven. 

Hark ! on the hreeze, that strange, deep cry 

A tale of fear is telling ; 
Its sound, all wild and mournfully. 

Far o'er the deep is swelling. 
Smothered at first, — then fearfully 

It comes, — till higher ! higher ! 
Its echoes thunder to the sky : 

God ! the ship 's on lire ! 

Startled, the child now turns his eye. 

Whore all in dread arc gazing, 
And laughs to see the flames on high 

In awful beauty blazing. 



THE BURNING SHIP. 219 

Quick ! to the life-boat ! — for on deck 

The fire is madly rushing, 
And soon within your blackened wreck 

The water will be gushing. 

But Hope now from that wretched bark 

Her heavenly wing is turning, 
For she has watched the fatal spark, 

And left the life-boat burning. 
Hark ! hark ! from every snowy sail 

The fire-fiend's voice is singing, 
He loves to hear the mother's wail 

Upon the night-wind ringing. 

The flame is on her boy's bright curls 

When, with a frenzied motion, 
She clasps his infant form, and hurls 

It madly in the ocean. 
Plunge upon plunge is heard, till all 

Beneath the waves are sleeping, 
And tears of light upon their pall 

The pale, pure moon is weeping. 



220 THE BURNING SHIP. 

And still, high o'er that burning deck, 

Columbia's flag -was streaming, 
As Freedom's smile upon the wreck 

Of Tyranny is beaming- 
Fate holds our starry banner fast, 

Its glory she will cherish ; 
For still it stood, — and was the last 

Of that proud ship to perish. 



221 



THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. 



Bring music, for it fills my soul 

With rapture and delight ; 
Let roses crown the flowing howl, 

And we '11 be gay to-night ! 
Yes, gay ! although a mournful tone 

Is lingering in my heart, 
And dreams of joy for ever flown 

Within my bosom start. 

On with the dance ! yet prolong 

Each melancholy note ; 
For as amid the glittering throng 

Their plaintive numbers float, 



222 THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. 

I feel a wild, strange thrill of joy, 

While yet my heart is sad, 
And memory would the smile destroy 

"Which seemed but now so glad. 

As summer breezes lightly rest 

Upon a calm, clear lake, 
And scarce upon its placid breast 

The silvery ripples wake, 
These thoughts of sadness and of bliss 

Come sweeping gently by, 
Soft as the thrill of love's own kiss, 

And mournful as its sigh. 

But summer breeze perchance may wake 

The spirit of the storm. 
And every ripple on the lake 

An angry billow form. 
Thussaddened thoughts, which seemed at first 

So sweetly mixed with JOJ . 

Within m\ heart ih>\\ madly burst, 

And even hope destroy. 



THOUGHTS OF THE PAST. 223 

For memory's tear oft dims the light 

Of pleasure's radiant wing, 
And sheds on every flower a blight 

Which in the breast may spring ; 
But oh ! when every hope has fled, 

What thoughts of anguish start, 
As tears we must not, dare not shed, 

Fall burning on the heart ! 

Yet once again : softly trill 

The notes I love to hear, 
And I will dream of joy, while still 

The echo fills mine ear. 
On with the dance ! from dreams of bliss 

Perchance my heart may wake, 
Nor be the first, 'mid scenes like this, 

To linger on, and break. 



221 



WHAT IS PLEASURE 



Tell me what is earthly pleasure ? 

Has the human heart defined, 
If it be a real treasure. 

Or a meteor of the mind ? 
Touched by grief, its charms are severed. 

And its glories cease to shine, 
As Venetian glass is shivered 

I>y a drop of poisoned wine. 

Ask the school-boy, " Whal is pleasure '. ' 
When a week's long task is done, 

And he saunters Inane ;u Leisure, 
With a hcarl brimful of fun ; 



WHAT IS PLEASURE ? 225 

He will tell thee, 't is in flying- 
Kites upon a summer day, 

Blowing bubbles, or in lying 
On a stack of new-mown hay. 

But when his red cheek is paling 

'Neath a master's eye in fear, 
'Neath the lash his fair form quailing, 

Yet too proud to shed a tear, — 
He will tell thee, in the sadness 

Of that dark, embittered hour, 
Hope is all the school-boy's gladness, 

Hope of manhood, and of power. 

Ask young lovers, who are weaving 

Fancied chains of lasting bliss ; 
They will tell thee 't is in giving 

And receiving love's first kiss. 
But when time has dimmed the brightness 

Of love's fair, enamelled gloss, — 
When the heart has lost its lightness, 

And life's wine is dark with dross, — 

15 



226 WHAT 18 PLEASURE ? 

They will tell thee, worldly pleasures 

To a sated fancy seem 
But a freight of fairy treasures 

"Wrecked upon some angry stream, 
Or as bright balloons, sent burning 

To the clouds, in childish mirth, 
From their airy voyage returning 

Blackened ashes to the earth. 

Go, ask manhood's wild ambition, 

In his eager search for fame ; 
He will answer, " Joy's fruition 

Is to win a deathless name." 
But these hopes perchance may wither, 

And another wear the crown, 
While he vainly strives to gather 

One frail blossom of renown. 

Then, in bitterness pf sorrow, 
Ee will echo, " Where is joy ? 

Won to-day, and lost to-morrow, 
'Tis a worthless, gilded toy." 



WHAT IS PLEASURE ? 227 

Resting but on public favor, 

Gilded by the public smile, • 
And beneath that shining cover, 

Hollow as a heart of guile. 

Ask the heart of some young mother, 

When her wealth of hope and joy 
Rests with one on earth, whose brother 

Is a bright-winged angel boy. 
There upon the wells of gladness 

Fall dim shadows from above, 
And soft echoes tell the sadness 

Of a mother's severed love. 

Ask the Christian, who has gathered 

Pleasure's bloom in early years, 
And lived on to see it withered, 

Mourning o'er the dust in tears. 
He will answer, " Graft thy pleasure 

Early on some heavenly tree, 
That shall yield abundant treasure, 

Here — and in eternity." 



228 WHAT IS PLEASURE ? 

Wandering from the paths of duty, 

Breathe once more thy infant prayer, 
And religion's early beauty 

Shall return to bless thee there ; 
If a mother's gentle teachings 

Be thy memory's vesper chime, 
Thou ■wilt need no sterner preaching, 

In thy manhood's golden prime. 



229 



A DEEAM OF HEAVEN. 



In a sweet dream I soared above 

To regions soft and fair, 
And roamed with spirits that I love 

Through heavenly gardens there. 

I wandered up, on wing of light, 
To one bright star that shone, 

Amid the countless orbs of night, 
All peerless and alone. 

Alone its perfect beauty beamed 
In the blue vaulted dome, 

And to my raptured vision seemed 
The great Eternal's home. 



230 A DREA3I OF HEAVEN. 

A light in memory's hallowed urn 

It shall for ever beam, 
And memory's dying look will turn 

To that enchanting dream. 

I saw my angel mother there, 

Pure and serenely bright, 
A spirit of celestial air, 

All clad in holy light. 

She led me where undying flowers 

In radiant beauty grew, 
And through eternal daylight hours 

Birds of rich plumage flew, — 

Where fountains o'er the verdant ground 

In liquid splendor fall, 
And billows, with a murmuring sound. 

To answering billows call, — 



A DREAM OF HEAVEN. 231 

Through shining streets, where 'mid the throng 

Of spirit forms I met 
Beloved ones, departed long, 

Who knew and loved me yet. 

They tuned their golden harps to sing, 

And welcome me on high ; 
Even now methinks I hear it ring, 

That anthem of the sky. 

I asked my gentle mother " why 

Her home was all so fair, 
So bright and beautiful the sky, 

When sun nor moon was there." 

She told me, as we onward trod, 

No orb might shine above, 
In realms lit by the smile of God 

And radiant with his love. 



232 A DREA3I OF HE A VEX. 

While thus in silvery tones she spoke, 
And glory round us shone, 

Softly it faded, — I awoke, — 
My dream of heaven had flown. 



233 



THE WITHERED BUD. 



And thou didst keep the bud I gave, 

Amid that gay and glittering throng, 
Didst, as some sacred relic, save - 

Its pale and blighted leaves, though lon< 
Of fragrance and of hue bereft ; 

Yet, when that rose was fresh and fair, 
Upon thy heart its bloom I left, 

And mine now thrills to find it there. 

'T is strange, that memory often weaves 
Her spells around a ruined flower, 

And from a heap of withered leaves 
Will summon, by her subtle power, 



234 THE -WITHERED BUD. 

Dim spectral shadows of the past, 
Some sad, some beautiful, and yet 

One look upon the bright we cast, 

And cling to those which bring regret. 

Friendship ! — 't is like the flitting beam 

Which seems to build a rosy fire 
Within the iceberg's heart ; we dream 

Of "warmth, but, when the rays expire, 
Find only there a frozen isle ; 

And transient as that golden glow 
Is — ah ! too oft — the sunny smile 

We trust — when hearts lie cold below. 

The smooth, soft sheen, the silver foil, 

Which makes life's mirror bright and fair. 
An artful hand may quickly spoil, 

And leave the glass transparent there ; 
By envy, or by bit tor hate, 

The love we trusl is oft destroyed. 
And, seeking still its light, too late 

We turn, and find a chilling void. 



THE WITHERED BUD. 235 

Yet, like the Resurrection-flower, 

Which, rescued from the Egyptian's tomb, 
When moistened by a gentle shower, 

In wondrous beauty still will bloom, 
We sometimes find a heart to prize, 

Which, changeless still through grief and years, 
Will, like that buried flower, arise, 

And brighten in the midst of tears. 



236 



THE CHILD'S PRAYER. 



Father ! beneath thy sleepless eye, 

The burning planets grew. 
And yet it beams from yon blue sky 

To light the evening dew. 
Thy spirit fills the boundless air, 
Yet stoops to hear an infant's prayer. 

The universe, with beauty filled, 
Pours forth its praise to thee, 

Whose voice the raging tempest stilled, 
Whoso footsteps pressed the Bea» 



the child's prayer. 237 

Yet 'neath thy smile blue violets spring, 
And thou wilt hear an infant sing. 

Father ! the vast, unerring will 

That gave creation birth 
Pours forth its holy love, to fill 

The humblest heart on earth : 
And like a dove descends to rest 
Within an infant's sinless breast." 



23* 



A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 



Sing mournfully ! let music float 

Around the dying' year ! 
Let sorrow thrill her saddest note, 

And shed her brightest tear. 
How lately did we hail his birth, 

How soon his eye grew dim 
With looking on this cold, cold earth ! 

Come, chant his funeral hymn. 

O gladly was (lu^ New Year met, 
When first lie wandered down, 

With many priceless minutes set 
ks jewels in his crown. 



A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 239 

We laughed, from out his diadem 

To see the treasures fall, 
Nor cared we then to gather them, 

Those gems so bright and small. 

But could the moments one by one 

Each steal away a spark 
Of splendor from the summer sun, 

This world would soon be dark. 
And thus the New Year's shining brow 

Of all its wealth was reft, 
Till it grew old and stern, and now 

There 's scarce a jewel left. 



Their memory still would fling 
A glory round the fading year, 

And gild his drooping wing. 
And where were sown those shining seed, 

Each heart would reap a bloom 
Of truth or love, some noble deed 

To brighten on his tomb. 



240 A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 

To call them back we vainly yearn, 

Those hours too idly cast 
Into that dark and mouldy urn 

Which mortals call the Past. 
We break Time's fragile woof, and leave 

Its fragments dim with tears ; 
We squander moments but to grieve 

When they are lost in years ; — 

Like children in their heedless play 

On some wild river's brink, 
Who fling their treasures all away, 

And laugh to see them sink, 
Till, as above each gilded toy 

The ruthless waters sweep, 
They cease to watch the waves with joy, 

And o'er their folly weep. 

As motes of dust, as grains of sand. 

As bubbles in the sea, 
Are mortal years within His hand 

Who holds eternity. 



A DIRGE FOR THE DYING YEAR. 241 

Yet He who weaves Time's mighty girth 
Marks when one thread is riven, 

And every moment lost on earth 
Is echoed " Lost ! " in heaven. 

The Old Year's dying hour has come : 

Let grief's pale shroud be cast 
Around him, — chant a requiem, 

And leave him with the past. 
And now to deck the New Year's shrine, 

Go gather wisdom's flowers, 
That wisdom's quenchless star may shine 

Upon his parting hours. 



242 



TO MY MOTHER. 



As some iEolian harp, deserted long 

By the soft winds which o'er it loved to sweep, 
My lyre is mute, my voice unused to song, 

And my sweet Muse, forsaken, turns to weep. 

Yet still, methinks, if some light breeze of even, 
Laden with rich perfume, should wander by, 

That spirit harp, wooed by the breath of heaven. 
Would wake once more its magic melody. 

And thus shall thy loved voice my song inspire. 

And while for thee again I strive t«» sing, 
The sweet word Mother, echoing o'er my lyre, 

Shall break the spell that binds each golden 
string. 



TO MY MOTHER. 243 

I '11 weave a wreath for thee, of childish hours, 
Culled from the vista of departed years, 

A mystic garland, of heart-treasured flowers, 
First twined by hope, now wet with memory's 
tears. 

Bright was our home, and in a sunny clime, 
Where, a gay, laughing child, I loved to dwell ; 

Thoughtless and free as bird in summer-time, 
My light step bounding as the wild gazelle. 

There, dancing by thy side, in baby glee, 

Fresh as the flowers that wreathed my shining 
hair, 
I had no wish that was unknown to thee, 

No thought, dear mother, that thou didst hot 
share. 

When to the stars with anxious gaze I turned, 
> Wishing in vain to count those orbs of light, 
They seemed to watch me, and my spirit yearned 
To know who formed the million eyes of night. 



244 TO MY MOTHER. 

then thou taughtst me His blest name to call, — 
That Holy One who dwells beyond the sky, — 

And toldst me that the word which formed them all 
Had power to crush each shining world on high. 

And oft, when, borne upon the storm's dark wing, 
The deep-toned thunder's startling voice was 
heard, 

Seeking protection there, to thee I 'd cling, 
And tremble like some poor, affrighted bird. 

Then, pointing up to the red lightning's blaze, 
My mother ! thou didst say, " The Almighty 

arm, 
Which made the flowers we love and sun's bright 

rays, 



My childhood passed, as some enchanting dream 
Of joy ; it seemed one long and sunny day, 

A rainbow's light, a radiant meteor's gleam: 
Transient as beautiful, it fled away. 



TO MY MOTHER. 245 

We left our home, — that home of perfect love, — 
The deep, lone valley, with its gushing spring, 

The stately oak, the still and peaceful grove, 
Where the first summer birds were wont to sing. 

All, all, were left ; and as o'er morning sky 
Serene and bright a gloomy shade is cast, 

Sorrow's first tear then dimmed my laughing 
eye, 
And my young spirit felt there was a past. 

Yet soon it fled — this childish grief — away 
And far ; in other lands 'mid stranger flowers 

My step was light again, my voice was gay 

As when, at home, I roved 'mid Southern 
bowers. 

For with thee still, as some fair star whose ray 
Sheds its soft lustre on the midnight hour, 

Thy smiles to charm my every care away 
Have proved a talisman of magic power. 



246 TO MY MOTHER. 

My mother ! could there descend one gleam 
Commissioned to return to realms above, 

From my true heart, upon its winged beam, 
I'd seal my mother's name, — that name of 
love. 



247 



GO DREAM OF ME. 



Go dream of me, oil ! at that haunted hour 

When midnight's dark and mournful eye 
Looks on the earth, and a silvery shower 

Of light is sweeping from the sky ; 
Away, away, upon its viewless wing, 

Through the dim and shadowy air, 
To the land of dreams let thy spirit spring, 

For mine will be wandering there. 

A voiceless grief, a wild, mysterious spell, 

A deep, unchangeable regret, 
With a strange power upon my being fell 

Long, long ago, when first we met. 



248 GO DREAM OF ME. 

I was a child, and knew not then of love ; 

Yet when I gazed into thine eye, 
The strong waves of my spirit seemed to move, 

And my young heart throbbed fearfully. 

Too well I knew thou ne'er wouldst turn on me 

More than a passing, transient thought, 
Wliile I could cherish but one memory, 

One dream, with thy dear image fraught. 
'T was vain, and yet I loved to gaze upon 

Thy face so radiantly bright, 
As flowers that turn at morning toward the sun 

And droop at eve beneath his light. 

But years fled on, and my young spirit grew 

Too proud to mourn thee in despair. 
And hushed the voice of love, though well I knew 

Its echo still would linger there ; 
I crushed the gem, but every fragment threw 

A broken light in memory's urn : 
I quenched the fire, bul where its embers strew 

My heart, a spark will sometimes burn. 



GO DREAM OF ME. 249 

I learned to smile when thou wert far away, 

To breathe thy name without a sigh, 
And schooled my tortured spirit to be gay, 

That none might mark its agony. 
The captive bird, though pining, seems to sing 

Blithely as when it wandered free, 
And the tints fade not from its prisoned wing, 

Yet that bird mourns unceasingly. 

I know thy waking thoughts are not for me, 

But when the hand of sleep has prest 
Upon thy brow, my heart prays silently 

That dreams of me may haunt thy rest. 
As a pale star will send its timid beam 

To sleep within a lily's bell, 
let my image wander as a dream 

Within thy slumbering soul to dwell ! 

Upon thy shining hair, thy broad, bright brow, 
Thy deep blue eyes, I still may gaze, 

(For oft we meet,) nor do I tremble now 
When near thee, as in other clays. 



250 GO DREAM OF ME. 

But love for thee my bosom may not thrill, 
My life is quiet, and my heart is calm, 

Though memories of the past are breathing still 
Around me like a heavenly balm. 

When first I dashed thine image from my heart, 

A coldness on my spirit fell, 
A feeling that can never all depart, 

Though long ago hope sighed " Farewell ! " 
Yet now that radiant, sunny smile of thine 

Still sheds a brightness o'er my soul, 
E'en as the Borealis lights that twine 

Their splendors round the frozen pole. 

'T is strange, that in my sleep thy voice so clear. 

In murmured accents deep and low, 
Thrills forth the burning words I pined to hear. 

When first I loved thee long ago. 
That time has past, and thai spell is riven ; 

Yet when the night-winds sing to thee, 
My spirit shall come on the breath of heaven, 

Whispering softly, " Go dream ol' me" 



251 



THE HARP THAT ONCE" ON ERIN'S 
SHORE. 



" The harp that once" on Erin's shore 

Of yore was wont to thrill, 
Shall gladden Erin's heart no more, — 

Its golden chords are still. 
For ah ! the soul which breathed so long 

In every tone has fled, 
And Erin's matchless child of song 

Is numbered with the dead. 

A gem that lit her crown of fame 

Has fallen ; but its ray 
Shall beam for ever o'er a name 

Which cannot pass away. 



252 "the hakp that once" 

The bard's wild voice of melody 

Has left its music there, 
An echo that can never die 

To haunt his native air. 

The harp that rang through Erin's isle 

Hangs mute and mournful now ; 
And dim the light of Erin's smile, 

For grief is on her brow ; 
Yet through the cloud a sacred beam, 

A quenchless light, shall pour, 
For every heart with love must teem 

That breathes the name of Moore. 

A voice has left her realm of song, 

"Whose burning words will glow 
In Erin's faithful breast as long 

As ocean tides shall flow, 
And sorrow's tear grows bright beneath 

Their light, and memory's bloom 
Is twined within the cypress wreath, 

That docks her poet's tomb. 



on erin's shore. 253 

But o'er his harp let ages still 

A reign of silence keep, 
For who the Bard's high place can fill ? 

What hand save his should sweep 
The chords that have been wont to swell 

The anthems of his breast ? 
His soul of fire has sighed farewell, 

And Erin's harp should rest. 

Yet beauty's beaming eye will weep 

Above the Poet's grave, 
As long as Erin's isle shall keep 

Its vigil o'er the wave ; 
And every bright green tint must fade, 

Upon her emerald shore, 
Ere yet forgetfulness can shade 

The memory of Moore ! 



254 



THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 



Thou canst not forget me, — thy proud heart 
may scorn 

The wild love it stooped to set free, 
And trample the truth which my spirit has worn 

As a gem ever sacred to thee ; 
Thy coldness may gather like frost on the bloom 

Of a hope that "was hidden for years, 
Butthoucanst not forget, — thou hast rifled atomb 

When its treasure was moulded by tears. 

There were many to love thee : — then why didst 
thou turn 
Prom that noon of affection away. 
And snatch the pale Lamp from my heart's shat- 
tered urn, 
But to mock at ii^ pale, spectra] ray? 



THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 255 

And why didst thou guard that sad light till it shone 
Like a star through the blue morning air, 

To quench it with hatred, till ashes alone 
Were left in their bitterness there. 

Thou canst not forget every soft-spoken vow 

Which thy falsehood has left to decay 
And drop from my heart, as the leaves from a bough 

Which the lightning has withered away ; 
That tree, thunder-stricken, may nourish again 

When the sun has caressed it awhile, 
But, blasted for ever, my love waits in vain 

To be brightened and blest by thy smile. 

Thou canst not forget me, for gleams of the past 

Through the ice of thy bosom shall glow, 
As the rainbow's soft shade on a glacier is cast, 

Or as sunlight on mountains of snow. 
As a death-stricken eagle who calls to her mate 

From some rock on a sea-beaten shore, 
My crushed spirit cries from the gloom of its fate ; 

say ! wilt thou not answer once more ? 



25G 



THE DEATH OF TTEBSTEE. 



Haek ! for there comes a wail of grief 

On the wing of the autumn breeze, — 
A sigh with every faded leaf 

That is swept from the rustling trees. 
And rain-drops from yon mournful cloud 

Upon the blighted earth are shed, 
Like tears of anguish o'er the shroud 

That wraps a nation's mighty dead. 

Another pillar, which upheld 
The temple of our love and trust. 

Time's unrelenting hand lias felled, 
And laid its elory in fclie dust. 



THE DEATH OF WEBSTER. 257 

Quenched is that light, which long has been 
A beacon lamp upon our shore ; 

Within the watch-tower shall be seen 
Its pure and steady ray no more. 

As the proud eagle, soaring high, 

An humbler dwelling-place will shun, 
His home the mountain, and his eye 

For ever fixed upon the sun, — 
Where liberty has built her tower, 

Where truth and peace and justice shine, 
His spirit was the ruling power, 

And there his genius has its shrine. 

This year has dashed a surging wave 

Of sorrow o'er our nation's breast, 
And left its footprints on the grave 

Where Webster's hallowed ashes rest. 
One fleeting year — a grain of sand, 

Swept to the desert waste of Time — 
Shall leave a shadow on our land, 

And in our hearts a funeral chime. 

17 



258 THE DEATH OF WEBSTER. 

Scarce had the tears hcen wiped away, — 

The tears a mourning million shed 
Upon the honored tomb of Clay, — 

When lo ! another sage is dead. 
Another orb that lit our sky 

Is hurled from out its radiant sphere ; 
Yet, by its shining track on high, 

The bark of Freedom still may steer. 

The mountain of a Union's pride 

An earthquake's mighty hand has torn, 
And severed from its granite side 

A rock which with her strength was born 
A giant rock ! but fresh and green, 

In wreaths of fadeless verdure drest, 
For truth and love were ever seen 

Twining with wisdom in his breast. 

Ee's gone for ever ! — far and near 
The funeral requiem shall be sung ; 

To every heart his name was dear. 

His virtues praised i»\ every tongue ! 



THE DEATH OP AVEBSTER. 259 

Columbia does not mourn alone 
For one she would have bled to save, — 

The serf, the monarch on his throne, 
Shall weep that he has found a grave ! 

They 've laid him by the dark-blue sea, 
Meet emblem of so great a soul ! 

A spirit fearless, strong, and free, 
Subject alone to God's control. 

The billows chant around his bed, 
But naught can wake him save the will 

Of One who rose, and softly said 



2C0 



RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. 



We may feci in an instant more exquisite joy 

Than lias wakened the spirit for years, 
A morning of bliss, which no night can destroy, 

And which cannot be darkened by tears. 
When a lifetime of rapture (we dreamed might 
he ours) 

In the thread of a moment is spun, 
As often the breath uf a thousand sweet flowers 

Seems gathered and mingled in one. 

I care not how transient, how fleeting their glow ; 

For though rigid and ice-bound, the heart 
Will ding to these phantoms of bliss, though we 

klinW 

They but mock us, t<> turn and depart : 



RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. 261 

As an hour of sunshine on some frozen rill 

Shall awaken its waters again, 
While "Winter's wild breath may be lingering still 

Their sweet music once more to enchain. 

There are thoughts that lie hid in the depths of 
the heart 

Too dear for this cold world to know ; 
In the caverns of earth there are fountains that 
start 

And for ever in loneliness flow, 
On whose echoing waters no morning shall rise ; 

Yet their waves are as pure and as bright, 
As if, gushing along beneath blue, sunny skies, 

They had lived an existence of light. 

And the traveller's torch, as he roams through 
the cave, 

On these mystical rivers will beam, 
With a glory that falls on each slumbering wave 

Like the spell of some beautiful dream. 



2G2 RAPTUROUS MOMENTS. 

And thus one sweet moment of rapture will pour 
A bright halo of gladness and love 

On the spirit all shrouded in darkness before, 
And its midnight of sorrow remove. 

And when they have fled, when not even a trace 

Of these meteor-joys shall remain, 
The pathway of time we will fondly retrace, 

And still live them in memory again. 
As a dove will ily back to her favorite bower, 

Though the mate that once shared it lias fled, 
And the bee linger still around Summer's lasi 
flower, 

Thoudi its leaves arc all withered and dead. 



263 



TO LOU. 



They told me thou wast dying, — and there swept 

A wild, swift tide of anguish o'er 
My spirit, as I cried aloud and wept, 

To think that we should meet no more ! 
But yesterday I saw thy laughing eye 

Pour forth its wealth of light and mirth 
On thy rich cheek, as Summer's sunny sky 

Looks on the rose's early birth. 

I saw thy polished brow, so pure and proud, 

Beneath its waving tresses shine, 
Radiant and spotless as a moonlit cloud 

Through the dark clusters of the vine ; 



2 04 



And when they told mc that the hand of death 

Had set its icy signet there, 
That thy red lip had paled beneath his breath, 

My soul was clouded with despair. 

And countless thoughts of every day we spent 

Together when our hearts were glad 
In that one fearful moment all seemed pent, 

Making it more intensely sad. 
Music and voices from the shadowy past 

Seemed echoing on Memory's shore 
And dirge-like murmured forth, "The last, the last, 

For ye shall meet on earth no more." 
***** 
I went to look upon thee once again, 

To sec thy lovely lace at rest, 
Ere yet its glory faded, or the slain 

Of death had soiled thy spotless breast ; 
And as 1 hurried on, there seemed a shroud 

( )f gloom upon the sunny day. 
Dark as my heart, whence sorrow's dismal cloud 

Drove the glad beams of joy away. 



265 



But ah ! full many an earnest, voiceless prayer, 

That morn had wafted to the sky 
The frenzied words, " Almighty Father, spare ! 

She seems too beautiful to die." 
And the death-angel had but poised his whig 

Above thee, and then fled away, 
As if he feared on thy pure form to fling 

The damp, foul shadow of decay. 

And as we watched the lifeblood sweep once more 

Along thy cheek with healthful glow, 
As the red blush of morning quivering o'er 

A sheet of pure, untrodden snow, 
And the dark, laughing lustre steal again 

Into thy dim and saddened eye, 
I wept with joy, — for angels caught the strain, 

" She is too beautiful to die." 

My sister ! all the grief of coming years 

Can never quench the memory 
Of the full, bitter tide of burning tears 

I shed that fearful morn for thee ; 



2CG TO LOU. 

For oli ! it seemed to me, if thou wert dead, 
. And we should meet on earth no more, 
As if the brightest, gayest bird had fled, 
For ever fled, from youth's glad shore. 

And though within my heart the waves of joy 

May gusli with hounding brightness still, 
Ages of pleasure never can destroy 

The deep, unutterable thrill 
Of mingled gladness, gratitude, and love, 

That rose and grew to rapture there, 
When the Almighty from his throne above 

Bade the death-angel " Pause and spare."' 



267 



THE CHILD'S DREAM. 



Often, dear mother, in a dream 

I hear the angels sing ; 
Their gentle eyes upon me beam, 

And o'er my slumbers fling 
A soft and holy light, that fills 

My infant soul with joy, 
And through the night in splendor steals, 

Its darkness to destroy. 

And shapes of radiant beauty rise 

Upon the midnight air, — 
Spirits that wander from the skies, 

To guard and bless me there. 



268 



THE CHILD S DREAM. 

My slumbering soul springs joyously 
To meet these forms divine ; 

Their smiles, dear mother, fall on me 
As tenderly as thine. 

I love to watch the clouds, that lave 

In seas of sunset light, 
And there like golden banners wave 

Before the coming night ; 
For o'er the sky their glory flings 

A rich and mellow beam, 
Like shadows of the angel wings 

That hover o'er my dream. 

And as the light wind steals along, 

Low whispering to the flowers, 
l! brings to mind the heavenly song 

That haunts my sleeping hours ; 
Or when the rainbow, soft and bright, 

Floats ob the dewy air, 
"T is like those robes of woven light 

My spirit guardians wear. 



THE child's dream. 269 

Mother, I know that God must send * 

These visions, pure and blest ; 
The Almighty is your infant's friend, 

And seraphs guard his rest. 
Ah ! often in the early dawn 

I 've watched for them in vain, 
Or, waking, wept to find them gone, 

And longed to sleep again. 



270 



WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 



We were friends, gay friends together, 

And a strange, deep gloom is shed 
On the memories that wither, 

Since I feel that thou art dead. 
Many a dear and cherished token 

Of our youth's too cloudless dawn 
Is all ruined now, and broken 

In my heart, for thou art gone. 

We were friends when joy's light measure 
From life's golden harp was rung, 

And the ripening fruits of pleasure 
All along our pathway hung ; 



WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 271 

When, no glad, warm thought repressing, 
Heart and soul laughed from our eyes, 

As the light of God's own blessing- 
Laughs in sunshine from the skies. 

When the present was too cheerful 

To regret a pleasure past, 
Or to tremble, and be fearful 

That they would not always last, — 
Ere we learned that- all too often 

In the fairest blossom's cup 
(Though its tints the south winds soften) 

There is poison folded up. 

We were friends when every feeling 

Was as warm and pure and bright 
As the summer air, when reeling 

'Neath a weight of amber light, 
And as tuneful as the gushes 

Of some merry little stream, 
When the wind steals through the rushes, 

On its dimpled breast to dream. 



272 WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

In a southern clime we -wandered, 

And through gardens whose perfume 
Crouds of regal roses squandered, 

From their treasuries of bloom, 
And where starry myrtles quivered 

'Neath the kisses of the Spring, 
Pure as flakes of down dissevered 

From a spirit's spotless wing. 

There by moonlight oft we revelled, 

Or when morning's orient crown, 
Like an angel's hair dishevelled, 

From the blue sky floated down, 
In rich waves of sunlight sweeping 

Where magnolia blooms were seen, 
Like a flock of white doves peeping 

From their hermitage of green. 

When I see blue violets gleaming 
Through a misl of April rain, 

Then sweel thoughts of thee come teeming. 
vVnd regrets, all wild and vain. 



WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 273 

By their perfume are excited, 

For still memory guards with care 

Those sweet flowers, alas ! now blighted, 
Which you culled for me to wear. 

It is long since they were gathered, 

Yet their fragrance never fled, 
And their freshness never withered, 

Till they told me thou wast dead ; 
But in memory's urn, all faded, 

Now their pale, blue ashes lie, 
And the rosy tints seem shaded 

Upon memory's morning sky. 

We were friends when smiles of gladness 

Lit thy boyhood's stately home, 
Ere we dreamed that so much sadness 

There in after years would come. 
Many dwelt in that proud manor, 

Yet no heir is left to claim 
And to guard the stainless honor 

Of thy father's cherished name. 

18 



•>~i\ WE WERE FRIENDS TOGETHER. 

But though brief our summer meeting, 

Thou hast only gone before, 
And my spirit sends thee greeting 

To that far-off Eden shore, 
Where the dews of youth still glisten. 

And sweet fancies seem to tell, 
That thine angel-ear will listen 

To the voice of my farewell. 



275 



THE CLOSING YEAR, 



The winds wail mournfully to-night, 

The dismal blast sweeps by, 
Seeming to murmur in its flight 

A death-song to the sky. 
And ocean waves break on the shore 

With low and plaintive moan, 
Still sounding through their hollow roar, 

" Another year has flown ! " 

The starlight steals, as if in fear, 
From Winter's cheerless cloud, 

To weave around the dying year 
A pale and misty shroud. 



276 TIIE CLOSING YEAR. 

And tall, dark trees like spectres stand, 
While their low rustling seems 

As voices from the spirit-laud 
Which come to us in dreams. 

where is now the breath of Spring, 

Her birds and greenwood bowers, 
And whither fled on rosy wing 

The Summer's laughing hours ? 
Where is the wealth of glowing leaves 

Fair Autumn loved to twine,-— 
The reaper's song, the golden sheaves, 

The purple, gushing vine 2 

Gone ! — gone for ever to the past ! 

Lost in that sullen deep 
Where Time's rich treasures all are cast, 

Where trj gone ages sleep. 
And thou art passing hence, Old Year, 

1 n Loneliness and gloom, 
Willi bul the Winter's icy tear 

To fall upon thy tomb. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 277 

Less mournful would thy parting seem, 

If one sweet bird could sing 
Above thy bed, one sunny beam 

Its warmth around thee fling, 
Than thus, bereft of light and bloom, 

Of flower and summer sky, 
Without one lovely thing to come 

And look upon thee die. 

As some lone mourner left to weep 

In bitterness above 
The graves where, unforgotten, sleep 

The children of his love, 
Thou hast lived on, 'mid Nature's fall, 

And now must pass away 
Without a single joyous call 

To bid thy spirit stay. 

Farewell ! — Spring's early song of mirth 

Its melody may swell, 
And Summer to the listening earth 

Her tales of gladness tell : 



278 THE CLOSING YEAR. 

But thou hast fled, — for ever fled ; 

The pleasure and the pain, 
The lights and shadows o'er thee shed, 

Cannot return again. 

But list ! there comes a merry peal 

Of music sweeping by. 
And songs of rapture seem to steal 

Along the midnight sky. 
Another year dawns on the earth, 

Heedless of clouds and gloom ; 
They fall less sadly on his birth 

Than on thy frozen tomb. 

Hearts that now shudder at the past, 

"Whose pleasures all have fled, 
May on the opening future cast 

A look of bitter dread. 
But there are s^inis yei that dream 

Beneath life's morning sky, 
Ti» whom the joys of earth still ><vm 

A brighl eternity. 



THE CLOSIKG YEAK. 279 

For them the coming year may ope 

That book of bitter lore, 
From which we learn that even hope 

Itself may be no more ; 
And they may wake perchance to weep 

O'er pleasure's funeral chime ; 
Then dream, — for God alone can keep 

The mysteries of time. 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO MY ABSENT MOTHER. 

Mother ! when sunlight's glowing kiss 

To morn's bright lip is clinging, 
When earth's loud harp attuned to bliss 

Its melody is ringing, 
Thy gentle smile, though fax away, 

O'er memory's fount is shining, 
Brighter than e'en the brightest ray 

In morn's fair chaplet twining. 

When Nature's heart, too full for words, 

Eer gratitude is telling, 
In the sweet breeze and song of birds 

To heaven's high portals swelling, 



LINES TO MY ABSENT MOTHER. 281 

The echo of thy fond farewell 

Within my bosom lingers, 
Soft as the golden chords that swell 

Beneath a seraph's fingers. 

Mother ! when twilight's mild, sad eye 

Upon the earth is gazing, 
While yet far down the western sky 

Day's rosy torch is blazing, 
Thoughts of thy love my soul inthrall 

With warm and holy feeling, 
Pure as the starry beams that fall 

Where eve's light step is stealing. 

When the full moon intensely bright 

On silvery wing is gliding, 
And with her veil of fairy light 

Night's dark, stern face is hiding, 
I try to think that thou art near, 

And while my heart is dreaming, 
It seems like night, less sad and drear, 

With moonbeams o'er it gleaming. 



282 LINES TO MY ABSENT MOTHER. 

Mother ! -when all is dark below, 

When 'wind and rain are sweeping, 
As if in one wild burst of woe 

Nature her God were weeping, 
My spirit like that tempest cloud 

Its tide of tears is swelling. 
Thou 'rt far, and my lone soul aloud 

Its tale of grief is telling. 

A shadow of the stormy day 

To memory's sky is clinging ; 
In vain I dash the cloud away, — 

Another there is springing. 
I call upon thy name, and grieve 

That now thou art not near me ; 
My heart refuses to believe 

That now thou canst not hear me. 

Mother! our cottage still is fair, 
The calm blue lake is slurring, 

But earth, and lake, and sky, and air. 
Seem lor thy presence pining: 



LINES TO MY ABSENT MOTHER. 

And my spirit whispers mournfully, 
" Time thy young grief may smother, 

But home ? there is no home for thee 
Without thy gentle mother." 



284 



NINA, 

OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

It was one of those nights so enchantingly calm, 
When Nature seemed breathing her spirit in balm ; 
When the pulse of the universe scarce seemed to 

beat 
In the hush of its slumber, so holy and sweet ; 
When the smiles of the earth, and the smiles of 

the shy. 
Had mingled their softness in evening's bine eye, 
And the wild wailing ocean hushed calmly to rest. 
With visions of twilight still haunting his breasl ; 
When the moon seemed to float in the shadowless 

sky, 
Like an angel of light from some Eden on high, 



NINA, OK THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 285 

Deserting her home 'mid the blessed, to keep 

A vigil of love over Nature's deep sleep ; 

When the breeze crept along through the forest's 

still shade, 
And lingered, and trembled, as if half afraid 
That some blossom or leaf by its breath might 

be stirred, 
Or its low chant awaken some slumbering bird, 
And break the rich harvest of silvery sheaves 
Which moonlight had bound round the dew-laden 

leaves. 
'T was a night when the presence of God seemed 

to move 
Over earth, — in a shadow of glory and love, — 
And she basked 'neath his smile, as if sorrow or pain 
Could never descend on her brightness again. 
E'en the dark-browed volcano, that rears its proud 

crest 
Where Italy's shore by the blue wave is prest, 
Looked tranquilly down on the unruffled deep, 
And smiled, — as a murderer smiles in his sleep, — 



28G NINA, OK THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEIL 

On the city that stood in her splendor and pride, 
Like a victim at rest, by that dread mountain's side : 
For with columns and statues, all radiant and 

white, 
Fair Pompeii looked on that beautiful night, 
In the waves of the moonlight, as pure and as pale 
As a bride 'neath the folds of her silvery veil. 
And a sound o'er the blue deep was Wafted along 
Of sweet ringing voices, in laughter and song ; 
And echoes of gladness the night-breezes gave, 
To brighten the dreams of each slumbering wave 
For a feast in the palace of Medon was kept. — 
Through her halls and her gardens rich melody 

swept, 
And music was mingled with fragrance and bloom. 
Till each blossom seemed breathing a voice of per- 
fume. 
'T was a banquet of splendor, a scene of delight : 
For the proud lord of Medon had bidden tbat night 
The brave and the Lovely to meel in his ball. 
Where liisown peerless daughter shone fairesl of all. 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 287 

With the form of an angel, the step of a queen, 
In the midst of that gay throng young Nina was 

seen ; 
No language can tell of a beauty that beamed 
Oji the gazer, as something of which he has dreamed, 
Too perfect for contrast to dim its rare light, 
With a spirit as pure as her beauty was bright ; 
No envy or malice her fair name could soil, 
The charm of her manner no homage could spoil ; 
She seemed like a statue created on high, 
Which had glowed into life 'neath the Deity's eye, 
A model of loveliness fashioned above, 
For saints in their glory to gaze on and love ; 
A gem from the casket of purity riven, 
Her spirit on earth was an emblem of heaven, 
As fresh and as fair as the lilies that grow 
Where the crystalline rivers of Paradise flow. 

***** 
'T was midnight, — yet still from the banqueting- 

hall 
Pealed forth the rich music, — now soft as the fall 
Of waters, that steal over silvery sand ; 



288 NINA, OK THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

Now deep as the gushing of -waves on the strand, 
When they rise, and fall back with an echoing 

swell, 
As if the wild ocean were sighing, " Farewell ! " 
And lo ! as each rosy-winged moment fled past, 
As the revellers watched them the brightest seemed 

last; 
For they left no regret, as they grew into hours, 
But fell on life's pathway, as Time's choicest 

flowers ; 
And Joy, as she gathered them, hid every thorn, 
For they danced on at midnight, — nor thought 

of the morn. 
All were happy, save Nina : a strange sadness clung 
Around her that evening ; a shadow seemed flung 
O'er the blaze of her beauty, as twilight will weave 
A soft purple veil round the golden-robed eve, 
Till half of ils glory seems melting away, 
And the other is tinged with a shadowy gray. 
A strange dream of terror erewhilo she had 

dreamed, — 
A vision of hot, hissing serpents, thai seemed 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 289 

To feed on her charms, till they withered away, 
As snowdrops will fade in the broad glare of day ; 
And through her young heart had their fiery pangs 

burned, 
Till hope in that dream all to ashes seemed turned. 
And now, 'mid the joys of that festival night, 
Though her step was so free, and her dark eye so 

bright, 
Though the palace was teeming with beauty and 

bloom, 
Yet, haunting her there like a spectre of doom, 
Glared that wild vision, wrapped in its fiery pall, 
Still guarding the portal of memory's hall. 
Then she left the gay banquet, and wandered alone 
To where a bright fountain with musical tone 
Leaped up in its gladness, and sang a sweet tune, — 
A low, tinkling measure of love to the moon. 
And ah ! how she wished her sad spirit might lave 
In the cold gushing depths of its silvery wave ; 
But she washed her white brow with its waters in 

vain, 

19 



290 NINA, Oil THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

That vision still burned in her heart and her Lrain. 
She looked towards the ocean, and lo ! it was there ; 
The spray of the fountain, the dim moonlit air, 
.Seemed peopled with countless strange shadows 

of flame, 
Still hovering around her, for ever the same. 
And terror and grief o'er her heart wildly swept, 
Till she bowed her fair head by the fountain and 

wept, 
As, o'erladen with rain-drops, some delicate flower 
Will droop its bright bell 'neath a swift summer 

shower, 
Nor seem, while thus bending, less queenly and fair 
Than when it first smiled in the soft morning air. 
Thus she stood, — when a low whisper stole to her 

car, — 
A fond voice that murmured, " why art thou 

here ? 
My beautiful Nina, say, why hast thou flown 
From the banquel to vreep by this fountain alone r 
Thy hea ri has seemed always sojoyous and free. — 



NINA, OK THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 291 

why are its sorrows thus hidden from me ? 

1 missed thee to-night from the banqueting-hall, 
And watched for thy coming in vain, till the fall 
Of the music grew sad, and the light seemed to 

fade, 
Which the glow of thy beauty around me had made. 
Naught was bright to my heart, in that fairy-like 

scene, 
Save only the memory that there thou haclst been, 
As the last rosy glimmer of daylight, when cast 
On some exquisite picture, which tells of the past. 
Thy joys and thy sorrows were wont to be mine, 
My soul's dearest treasures are poured into thine. 
Then why have I found thee, to know that thy heart 
Has hidden some grief in which I have no part ? " 
"No, not hidden," she answered; "'twas only a 

dream 
That has made me thus gloomy. Such fancies 

would seem 
To thee all so idle, I cared not to tell 
That my faint heart was bound by their shadowy 

spell." 



292 NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

A smilo from tho depths of her spirit awoke, 
And the tear in her dark eye grew bright as she 

spoke ; 
As a drop from some glorious storm-cloud afar 
In falling is lit by the beam of a star. 
Though Nina's proud heart had been haunted by 

fear, 
His voice had the power to strengthen and cheer, — 
To lure it away from its bodings of gloom, 
Till the future seemed only with gladness to bloom. 
She told her strange dream ; but he smiled at her 

dread, 
Till courage and hope o'er the present were shed ; 
And each feeling that grew, 'ncath his love, s 

to glow 
With light, as the golden-winged insects which 

grow 
To life in a soft flood of sunshine, and seem 
Like trembling thoughts, through the day's sum- 
nun- dream. 
Her Avild dread of danger grew distant and dim. 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 293 

And all things on earth were forgotten save him ; 
Their souls were entranced by an exquisite spell, 
While the soft, waxen bloom of the myrtle-trees fell 
On the night-breeze around them, all starry and 

white 
As blossoms just born of the moon's mellow light, 
And flung from night's vast azure temple above, 

A heavenly tribute to earth's hallowed love. 

* * * * * 

But see ! does a meteor shed its strange glare 
To stain the light waves of the silver-robed air ? 
Has some glorious planet been hurled from on high, 
And left its red track on the calm midnight sky ? 
Or vast unknown hosts in their starry homes striven, 
And shed their bright blood on the blue fields of 

heaven ? 
For a moment the maiden now gazed on the sky, 
On the earth, and the sea, and then gave a wild 

cry, 
Which seemed in the arches of silence to dwell ; 
And volumes of terror its echoes did tell, 



294 NINA, OR TIIE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

As far through the night's lonely chambers they 

rung, 
And stirred the red shadows of fire which hung 
From her starry pavilion, like curtains of ilamc : 
For now from the heart of the mountain there came 
A river of hot, hissing vapors, that seemed 
Like the fiery serpents of which she had dreamed. 
And in that dread moment her proud form had 

grown 
As cold and as white as the Parian stone 
That gleamed 'neath the fountain ; for voiceless 

she stood, 
And still pointed away toward the fiery flood ; 
But hark ! for the sound of the music is husked, 
And forth from the palace the dancers have rushed, 
111 their glittering robes and bright jewels, which 

glare 
With a strange, mocking light in the flame-colored 

air. 
Like a white marble altar thai pale city seemed, 
Upon which the reel torch of some fire-god gleamed, 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 295 

And the fair, jewelled throng, in their hopeless 

despair, 
Like victims arrayed for a sacrifice there. 
And list ! the loud wailing of agony rung 
From those who had slumbered, and, startled, 

now sprung 
From their calm moonlit dreamings, to echo that cry 
Of " The mountain ! the mountain ! God, we 

must die ! " 
And to see their loved city, so peerless and proud, 
Now all wrapped for the grave in a gorgeous shroud ; 
For onward, and upward, still higher and higher, 
From the mountain's black heart leaped a torrent 

of fire ; 
And up to the sky the red lava was hurled, 
As if the foul fiends of some vast inner world, 
Rebellious to God, from their dungeons had striven 
To storm, in their wrath, the bright portals of 

heaven ! 
And the azure-robed ocean, so tranquil before, 
Now bellowed and moaned to the quivering shore. 



296 NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

ibid lashed the white sands with his blood-tinted 

mane, 
As if his vast bosom were goaded to pain 
By each scorching ripple that sheathed its red dart, 
Like a fiery spear, in his wild-throbbing heart. 
And whore have the throng from that fair city fled, 
Now only a home for the dying or dead ? 
There still is the miser, whose last earthly grasp 
Still clung to his treasures, and whose dying gasp 
Was a shriek of despair, as death loosened his hold, 
And left him a corpse by his coffers of gold. 
The mother is there, with her baboon her breast, 
In a dark grave of ashes, laid down to their rest ; 
And sweet, prattling childhood, and manhood's 

bright form, 
All were swept to the earth by that fiery storm. 
On Medon's proud palace the hot tempest pours. 
And lava floods sweep o'er her white marble floors ; 
The red wine now boils in the reveller's hall. 
And bright goblets, melted, in golden streams tall 
From the glittering banquet, whose roses, all dead, 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 297 

Their soft, fragrant ashes in mournfulness shed 
On that strange wreck of pleasure, where lately 

had shone 
The gay smiles of beauty, where mirth had her 

throne ; 
But terror now lingers, and flame-serpents cling 
Round that banquet of fire, — where Death is the 

king. 

***** 

" Come, Nina, my own one, linger not here ! 
Leave the weak to be hopeless, the wicked to fear ; 
I have a light vessel now moored in the bay, 
Which o'er the blue ocean shall bear us away 
To some tranquil spot, on a fair foreign shore, 
Where dread visions of fire shall haunt thee no more, 
And where no hot breath from yon mountain can 

come, 
To wither the joys of our beautiful home. 
There thy heart shall be brightened and blest by 

my love, 
As the olive-branch gladdened the tempest-tost 

dove. 



298 NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMI'EII. 

And on mine the rich glow of th y beauty shall beam 
For ever, as bright as the first golden gleam 
That stole like an angel's soft smile from the sky, 
To gladden the earth when the deluge passed by. 
come ! for the torrent of lava draws near, 
The mountain seems hissing a curse onus here. 
Away ! ere it burn the frail threads of our fate, 
And leave us despairing, — a moment too late ! " 
She spake not, she stirred not, though fiercely the 

glare 
Of the lava now lit up her long raven hair, 
As lightning illumines the tempest's black shroud, 
When night's starry beauty is veiled by a cloud. 
Once more he gazed up at the mountain's red crest, 
Then clasped that mute, motionless form to his 

breast, 
And fled through the garden, whose bowers of 

bloom 
Were burned all to ashes, and haunted by gloom, 
Far down to the shore, where his lighl vessel code 
Like a white-breasted bird on an ocean of blood. 



NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 299 

For lo ! from the clear azure veins of the deep 
A dark crimson torrent seemed slowly to creep, 
As fiery shadows swept down through the air, 
And illumined the trembling waves with their glare. 
But now, like a spirit, as wild and as free, 
That light-masted bark fled away o'er the sea ; 
And though from the mountain the red flames 

still curled, — 
Though round them huge rockets of lava were 

hurled, — 
Yet the heart of the lovers grew tranquil and brave, 
As onward in safety they swept o'er the wave ; 
For Nina's white brow lay upturned on his breast, 
And thus to behold her was still to be blessed. 
He bent o'er her fondly, and soothed all her fears, 
Till the spell that had bound her was broken by 

tears : 
And slowly her spirit then seemed to awake 
From its cold trance of terror, — as some frozen lake 
"Will gusli into ripples, when warmed by a. ray 
Of love from the heart of a sunshiny day. 



300 NINA, OR THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 

The west had grown light 'ncath the blue eye of 

morn, 
And far from the mountain their frail bark was 

borne, 
"When forth from its pitiless bosom there came 
Huge masses of lire, and swift whirlwinds of flame, 
Which seemed to exult o'er the terrified earth, 
And to shake the deep sea with their monstrous 

mirth. 
where are the lovers? Go, ask yon great wave, 
That rent its dark bosom to make them a grave ; 
Or the lava, which sprung like a fiend through the 

air, 
To wreak the fierce hate of the fire-spirit there. 
His wrath is now sated, his wild orgies past, 
But the loveliest victims were sacrificed last. 

***** 
The city is buried! the mountain burns dim, 
And mutters faint sounds, like a funeral hymn, 
By the tomb of its victim; while ashes now fall 
Through the low, wailing air, like a funeral pall ; 



NINA, OB THE LAST NIGHT AT POMPEII. 301 

And where the sad Morning sits silent and pale, 
The black smoke has woven a thick, murky veil 
O'er her light azure vesture, and left her to weep 
By the wreck of Pompeii, — beloved of the deep ! 
Ah ! well may the bright tears of nature be shed, 
For the beautiful bride of the ocean is dead ! 



302 



THE FEOZEN SHIP. 



In years gone by, through many a distant clime 

It was the pleasure of my life to roam ; 
And once, fair reader, in the sweet spring-time 

I found on Albion's isle a transient home ; 
And for a while most sweet and calm content 

Within a rustic cottage there I knew. 
Where clustering woodbines o'er the portal bent, 

And violets in hidden beauty grew. 
Or hawthorn-blossoms bathed their blushes in the 
dew. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 



303 



And this, my humble tenement, was near 

As neat a village as you '11 see, I ween, 
Where white and fair the cottages appear, 

Like snowdrops springing from the verdant 
green. 
And in its meadows browse the lowing herds, 

And in its woods the shepherds love to tend 
Their gentle flocks, where bright-winged forest- 
birds 

In a wild concert their sweet music blend, 



The tiny spire, too, which seemed to tower 

Above the hamlets with a mimic pride, 
As in a garden oft some taller flower 

Will seem a giant by the daisy's side ; 
And the sweet hymns which every Sabbath morn 

Forth from that village church devoutly steal, 
Up to the mercy-seat of God are borne, — 

Welcome in heaven as loud chants that peal 
From gilded temples where the rich and mighty 
kneel. 



304 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

I 'vc dwelt in courts, amid the glittering throng, 
And on the stream of pleasure seen them glide 
With careless mirth and idle jest along, 

Like shining bubbles on a summer tide ; 
And as such fairy circles in the sun 

Beam for a moment and then melt in air, 
I 'vc watched those thoughtless beings, one by- 
one, — 
Wealth, genius, beauty, power, all were 
there, — 
Wrecked in their headlong course when life seemed 
blest and fair. 

And in my rural home, where ne'er was seen 

The pride of wealth, or fashion's gaudy train, 
I never sighed to be where I had been, 

Dwelling amid the glare of courts again. 
Tis pictured on my heart, that tranquil spot, 

In tints which fade not with the flight ofyoars, 
And on Hie cherished scene is there no Mot, — 

Save when the form of Memory appears, 
Moistening the picture with unbidden tear-. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 305 

But to my story. 'T was the first of May, — 

The village seemed to glow with mirth and 
flowers, 
As time, on golden pinions, fled away, 

Casting no shadow on the passing hours. 
I left my cot to join the merry throng, 

And see their May-queen on her sylvan throne ; 
For with the sound of revelry and song 

Filling the ear, 't is sad to be alone, 
Dreaming of bygone hours and joys for ever flown. 

It was a blithesome holiday ; and there, 

All grouped in beauty on the sparkling green, 
The ancient dame, the matron fresh and fair, 

The dimpled child, and blooming maid were 
seen. 
And many a lad with look of bashful love, 

Lurking, half hidden, in the stolen glance 
Which to his chosen one would fondly rove, 

(She twining flowers or mingling in the dance,) 

And then he turned away, — as if 't had been by 

chance. 
20 



306 THE FROZEN SHIP. 



Where smiles were sunny, too, and eyes were 
bright, 
And every little flower or leaflet green, 

Moved by the wind, seemed trembling with 
delight. 
The old had cast their weight of years away. 

And wandered back to youth's Elysian shore ; 
Forgetting the dim eye and locks now gray, 
They seemed to feel as they had felt of yore, 
And dream they were, alas ! what they could be 
no more. 

And yet I saw one face in that gay crowd, 

So full of deep, unutterable sadness, 
A noble form, which seemed so early bowed, 

It east a shade upon their festive gladness ; 
Andsmilcsand flowersand sunlight were 1 

When in their midsl 1 Looked upon the sorrow 
Of a lone heart which knew no joy to-day, 

And from the dark future could not borrow 
Even one Taint gleam of hope to gild the morrow. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 307 

The merry children seemed to know him well, 

And tried with sports his sadness to beguile ; 

But though he strove not their wild mirth to quell, 

I never saw his features wear a smile. 
Methought he was like some calm, lonely lake, 
When blasted trees their funeral shadows 
throw 
Upon its waves, where no bright ripples break : 
For ever mournful, though the sun may glow 
And birds may sing, those deep and silent wa- 
ters flow. 

I saw within his eye a flashing gleam 

Of madness, mingling with the sorrow there, 
As, with an outstretched arm, he oft would seem 

To stay some mocking phantom in the air. 
He was alone ; and yet in that bright throng 

A tender care his sadness seemed to claim, 
A care which shielded him from slight or wrong : 

None knew his story, or from whence he came, 
But " Crazy Carl," they told me, was his village 
name. 



308 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

And yet they said he was not always mad, 

Tho' reason's light returning seemed in vain, 
For he was ever so profoundly sad, 

That they ne'er hoped to see him smile again. 
(If he had ever smiled,) which none could tell. 

For only two short years had passed away 
Since to their village first he came to dwell, 

And no one there had. ever seen him gay. 
Though oft 'mid. scenes of mirth it was his wont 
to stray. 

The soft and variable blush of Spring, 

Warmed by the sun, had deepened into bloom. 
As, hovering o'er the earth on rainbow wing, 

Summer poured forth her treasures of perfume. 
It was in June, a mild and shadowy day. 

When light and shade so exquisitely blond. 
I left my cot with " Crazy Carl " to stray 
Where'er his changing mood our path might 
wend, 
Fori had taught that friendless one to call me 
" friend." 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 309 

My voice had power to lure his thoughts away 
From that dark realm of wild, fantastic 
dreams, 
Where sprites and goblins hold their fearful 
sway, 
And the soft light of reason never beams. 
Oft, in such moments, I would strive to glean 
The story of that sorrow which had passed, 
Like the dark shadowing of a cloud, between 
Himself and all on which his hopes were cast, 
Making the first bright dream of life the last. 

But ere the tale was told his mind would rove 

Back to the realm of fantasies again, 
And thus, for many weeks, in vain I strove 

From those few broken links to form a chain ; 
Until that tranquil morning, when he seemed 

As calm in spirit as the summer day, 
While reason's star in lucid beauty beamed 

O'er memory's ruins with a brilliant ray 
That lit the past, — and cleared its shadowy mists 
away. 



310 THE FROZEN SHIP. 



" My birthplace was a village near the sea, 
Where billows on the Leach their foam- 
wreaths threw ; 
Lulled in my cradle by its minstrelsy, 

The ocean was my playmate as I grew ; 
For when in graceful beauty swelled the tide 

Upon the pebbly beach, I loved to stray, 
And breast its mimic waves with boyish pride, 
Or bathe my forehead in their crystal 
spray, — 
Then hours as minutes seemed, and years as 
one long day. 

" A father's proud, fond care I never knew, 
But hallowed vigils guarded me from guile. 

For Heaven upon my joyous childhood threw 
Its own bright radiance in a mother's smile. 

Hark to that voice! — 'My own, my cherub 
buy!' 
I seem even now to hear her whispering; 

For time, nor grief, nor madness can destroy 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 311 

The flowers of love -which bloomed in boy- 
hood's spring, 
And still entwined around my mother's mem- 
ory cling. 

" No brother shared my rambles on the strand, 

No gentle sister bounded at my side ; 
Yet oft in mine was pressed a tiny hand, 
As on the beach I waited for the tide. 
My playmate was a child with raven hair, 
Whose black eyes beamed as beams a sum- 
mer night 
When moonlight glistens on the dewy air, 
Weaving o'er earth and sea a web so bright 
That night and darkness are all lost amid its 
light. 

" A fairy girl ! with heart as soft and warm 
As is the climate of a Southern sky, — 

With calm, white brow, a slight and graceful 
form, 
And lips that smile 'mid love's own witchery, — 



312 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

There, in yon fleecy cloud, I see her yet, 
Beckoning me onward to her home above, 

The sea-weed twined amid her curls of jet : 

' Estell ! ' my beautiful, my spirit-love ! 

Fair as when on the pebbly Leach we used to rove. 

" And, like myself, she was an only child, 

The idol of a father's doting heart, 
Who, stern by nature, when his darling smiled, 
Softened, and became of her bright self a part. 
The master of a whale-ship, he had grown 

Rough as that ocean where for many a year 
His bark among the icebergs oft was thrown, 
When a brave heart and steady hand must 
steer : 
With but one joy, one hope on earth, he knew no 
fear. 

"I 'vc heard him tell wild legends of the sea, 
Beside his cottage &re at twilight gray. 

Until 1 yearned a sailor-boy to l'i\ 
The ocean's wide and trackless waste to stray. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 313 

And when, perhaps to please my boyish pride, 
He said a stately ship should be my home, 
Then trembling all, and tearful, to my side 
Estell, my little playmate, oft would come, 
And bid me promise that from her I ne'er would 
roam. 

" Hope o'er our path her brightest blossoms 
threw, 
And as we stooped to cull them hand in hand, 
'Mid truth and happy innocence we grew. 

Pure as twin shells upon the ocean strand, 
And, as the sun's caresses oft will shed 
A rosy hue within each spotless shell, 
When dimpled childhood's laughing hours 
were fled, 
The light of love upon our young hearts fell, 
Too rich, too exquisite, too heavenly to tell. 

" Ours was a love which could not brook con- 
trol, 
Thrilling existence with a magic power ; 



314 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

Deep and unquenchable within the soul, 

It burned more brightly with each new- 
born hour. 
A dreamy light stole in Estell's dark eye, 
And on her downy cheek the blush had 
grown 
Deep, like the red in autumn's mellow sky, 
As, when I spoke, in every lingering tune 
The fond, peculiar eloquence of love was thrown. 

" Her spirit was not blithesome as a day 

In early spring, when all on earth is glad ; 
Her joy was deep, intense, but seldom gay. 

And yet she was too happy to be sad. 
'Mid nature's scenes of loveliness to roam, 

She left the noise of village revelry, 
And when each star-beam made itself a home 

In some frail, shining bubble of the sea, 
She loved to wander on the silent shore with me. 

"Or, when her father's bark was far away. 
When mighty billows broke upon the strand, 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 315 

Up to some rocky height we used to stray, 

And 'mid the tempest's fearful revel stand. 
Hers was a daring nature, bold as free, 

And if her dauntless heart e'er knew a fear, 
'T was for her sire when tost upon the sea, 
"Who, (ever worshipped,) when he was not near 
To his fair daughter's heart, seemed still more 
fondly dear. 

" One evening as we lingered on the shore, 

When sunset clouds were darkling in the sky, 
And mournful night seemed trembling before 

Day's gaudy pageant, as it flitted by, 
We wandered to a cavern where had dwelt, 

For many years, a woman weird and old, 
One who in sorcery and witchcraft dealt, 

Pretending the dark future to unfold ; 
And many a village maiden's fortune had she 
told. 

" We saw the hag near by her gloomy cave, 
As, for some charm or spell in her dark lore, 



316 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

She gathered moss and sea-weed which some 
wave 
Had left to bleach and wither on the shore. 
I would have turned away and left the spot, 

But Estell hade me, in a playful tone, 
To ask the sorceress our future lot, — 

If a bright star upon our birth had shone, 
And if our love would linger still when youth 
had flown. 

" I placed a coin upon the withered palm, 

And told her then to read the maiden's fate, 
To gaze upon that brow so pure and calm, 

And say if aught but joy an angel could await. 
She smiled, — a smile so dark and strange, it 
seemed 
Like the wild gleam of storm-clouds sweep- 
ing by, 
When sunlight struggling through the gloom 
lias 1 teamed, 
Making their blackness wear a lurid dye, 
As if Vesuvius had breathed upon the sky. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 317 

" I see them now in the dim twilight stand : — 
Trembling, and half in fear, Estell had 
placed 
Beneath the hag's keen gaze that tiny hand, 
Upon whose rosy palm her fate was traced. 
' Wake ! ' said the witch, ' for dreaming now is 
vain ; 
This severed line is an unerring token 
That fate will rend for thee love's fairy chain ; 
By distance and by death shall it be broken ; 
A cold, pale star shone on thy birth: — thy doom 
is spoken ! ' 

" A sadness gathered in her full, dark eye, — 
The blood rushed from her cheek, and left it 
white 
As snow-flakes in their new-born purity. 

Her smile, in fading, a strange, ghastly light 
Of terror on her quivering lip had thrown, 
Which seemed the spirit of some darker 
fear, 
As thus again, in an unearthly tone, 



318 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

That wild, -weird woman spoke, — her voice 
so clear 
Is echoing from the vault of time within mine 
ear : — 

" ' Maiden, I tell thee, in this world of woe, 

It is not always for the brightest lip 
That jo j within life's ' crystal bowl' shall glow ; 

The pure, the beautiful, must often sip 
The blackest dregs of bitterness and gloom. 

Once I was young, my face as thine was fair. 
But Sorrow's hand has plucked the healthful 
bloom 
Which by the smile of love was nurtured there. 
And left my heart, then light, a prey to dark de- 
spair. 

"'Away! away! I cannot toll thee more, 
Save that thy father's bark is homeward 
bound ; 

And. when this moon be full, — perhaps before, — 
lli^ blessing in thine ear again shall sound. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 319 

But evil will betide that luckless day 

When his strong ship again must leave the 
shore ; 
For weeks, and months, and years will roll away, 
Ruin shall stalk within his cottage door, 
But to that home thy father will return no more.' 

" And from that hour Estell's fair face was sad : 

I strove with mirth to chase its gloom away, 
And, laughing, told her that the witch was mad ; 

But all in vain, I could not make her gay. 
She told her father of the prophecy, 

Beseeching him no more to tempt the deep ; 
He bade her ' tell the eagle not to fly,' 

But smiled, and said, 'My darling, do not 
weep; 
A key to the dark future God alone can keep.' 

" The love of that strange being for her sire 
Was an idolatry of heart and mind ; 

A deep devotion, which is purer, higher, 
Than that which in more selfish souls we find. 



320 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

And when at last the ' luckless day ' drew near, 
Upon my breast she whispered thus her woe: 

' The Almighty knows how fondly, madly dear 
Thou art to me, — yet fate decrees I go.' 
(All! deep within my heart her burning words 

still glow.) 

*■ 

" ' Yes, leave thee, though the fibres of my heart, 

"Which, as I speak, in bitterest anguish swell. 
Be, in their fearful struggle, torn apart, 

Yet will my fainting spirit breathe, Farewell ! 
My love is prisoned with a firmer chain 

Than the bright links by thy devotion wrought ; 
Rending the future's mighty veil in twain, 

To gaze beyond it I have idly sought, 
And find my father's life with darkest danger 
fraught. 

" c Then let me share it : I would rather fly 
'Mid scenes of terror, or with death to cope, 

Than tarry here in sad uncertainty. 

Hoping, yet fearing that there is no hope. 



THE FBOZEN SHIP. 321 

The voice of Destiny has whispered, Go, 

Thy father's loneliness to bless and cheer. 
My wild idolatry thy heart must know, 
But there are holier ties, if none so dear : 
Then, persuade me not with thee to linger 
here ! ' 

" The old man strove with many a gentle word 

To change Estell'sstrongpurpose,butin vain: 
His kind, calm arguments she meekly heard, 

But, falling on his bosom, wept again, 
And poured into his ear a fervent prayer 

That he would never bid her quit his side, 
But suffer her his destiny to share ; ' 

For, whether good or evil should betide, 
Fond and unshrinking she would ever there abide. 

" I gazed upon that strong and stately ship, 
I watched the breezes fill each flowing sail, 

And saw Estell, with white and wreathing lip, 

Her cheek as alabaster cold and pale, 

Stand on the deck, and wave a last farewell. 
21 



322 THE FROZEN SHU'. 

.She saw me dash away one tear of woe, 
When, crushed by grief, her fainting spirit fell, 
And then — I watched them bear her form 
below. 
would that Lethe's stream o'er that sad scene 
could flow ! 

" Thou sayest I might have made Estell mine 
own, 
And gone to guard her o'er the treacherous 
deep ; 
But then my mother had been left alone, 

In bitterness of heart to mourn and weep. 
I sought my home, but even that mother's love, 

With all its wealth of watchful tenderness, 
My weight of agony could not remove, 
Or check the strong, swift tide of my distress : 
On my young heart a world of sorrow seemed to 
press. 

" I hated tin- -lad earth, and calm, blue sky, 
Thai smiled in beauty on my wretched: 



THE FROZEN SHI>. 323 

For nature, teeming all with joy and melody, 
Was blest and bright, while I was desolate : 
I thought the summer birds should cease to 
sing, 
And that the flowers she loved no more should 
grow, 
That tears, and sighs, from earth's broad breast 
should spring, 
And even the sun himself, ceasing to glow, 
Should veil his brilliancy to mingle in my woe. 

" Our hearts had grown together, and were knit 

Close as the fibres of a sinewy oak, 
To sever — as that mighty tree is split 

And shivered by the lightning's quick, fierce 
stroke. 
In one short moment had been torn apart 

The love and trusting tenderness of years, — 
All, all were rent by Destiny's keen dart : 

Even hope refused to smile upon our fears. 
And vain regrets were mingled with our tears. 



324 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

" Days, weeks, and months in weariness rolled on, 

Yet, when the death-bell of the parting year, 
Sounding the requiem of moments gone, 

In mournful cadence fell upon mine car, 
None of my heart's deep wretchedness had fled, 

To 1)0 forgotten in the tomb of time ; 
For joy within my lonely breast was dead, 

And grief had sounded there the dismal chime 
Which haunts my spirit yet, in every age and 
clime. 

" Long years sped on, and of that missing bark 
The wondering villagers had ceased to prate : 
Time had extinguished hope's last glimmering 
spark, 
And they no longer pondered on her late. 
Within my breast the last bright chord was 
riven, 
When from this earth my mother's spirit fled ; 
Mv soul with its fierce agony bad striven 
I Jul for lier sake, and when sin- two was dead, 
I Longed within the grave t<> i*es< my weary brail. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 325 

" I sought the witch's cavern in despair, 

To bid her tell me of the lost ship's fate ; 
But a white skeleton was grinning there, 
Which seemed to whisper, ' Thou hast come 
too late.' 
The hag had passed away, — yet was there heard 
No voice of wailing, save the billows' moan ; 
She was uncoffined, and the wild sea-bird 
Had picked the fetid flesh from every bone, 
Leaving them there to bleach, unburied and alone. 
***** 
" Youth, with its dewy freshness, fled away ; 
But ere I reached to manhood's strength and 
prime, 
My form was bowed, my clustering tresses gray, 
For grief had foiled the ruthless touch of time. 
Fortune had blessed me with her golden gift, 

And oh ! if wealth could banish misery, 
With crushed and blighted heart I would not 
drift 
Upon the billows of a shoreless sea, 
Without one hope of bliss — save in eternity. 



326 THE FSOZEN SHIP. 

" I might not lose my sorrow in the crowd 

Where votaries of pleasure love to roam ; 
Nor 'mid the stately mansions of the proud 

Could my lone spirit make itself a home. 
But in those cold and unfrequented seas 

Where the fond idol of my heart was lost, 
Where the dim smile of summer seems to freeze, 

For many years my sturdy bark was tost, — 
Striving to cross that line which man has never 
crossed. 

" It was one day in summer, when the sun, 
Tearing the cold, white mists that veiled his 
light, 
Poured upon Greenland's shore the raysofnoon, 
Tinting her pallid cheek with Mushes bright, 
And when along the icy peaks they played, 

It was as if far down the fields of air 
Some brilliant comet from ii< course had 
strayed, 
And. pausing in its flight, been frozen there, 
Making the Iceberg's rigid form all blest and fair. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 827 

" And one there was, which in its hugeness 
seemed 

A towering mount of crystal in the sea, 
As teeming with unnumbered rays it gleamed, 

Dazzling the gazer with its brilliancy. 
And as thereon my eager look was bent, 

A deep, wide cleft or chasm I espied, 
As if some giant's monstrous arm had rent, 

Or hewn, a mighty cavern in its side, 
That with the imps of winter he might there abide. 

" I longed to enter this stupendous arch, 

Which in its vast, mysterious splendor shone 
Brighter than e'er has spanned a conqueror's 
march, — 
More glorious than the gems that deck his 
throne. 
I bade two sturdy sailors man our yawl, 
And with me to explore this icy cave ; 
I feared not danger, — nor could it appall 
Those rough and dauntless children of the wave, 
Who, in the midst of danger, live but to be brave. 



328 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

" On sped our boat ; but ere it reached the spot, 

Lo ! from beneath that frozen archway came 
A ship, which, looked on, could not be forgot, 

With stiffened sails, and moss grown o'er her 
name. 
My head grew dizzy, and big drops of sweat 

Froze in the chilly air along my brow ; 
Their piercing coldness steals upon me yet, 

And I can feel my lifeblood curdling now, 
As when, in silent awe, we gained the vessel's bow. 

" And those who recked not danger quaked with 
dread, 
"When (climbing on that black and mouldy 
wreck) 
They stood beside the pale and voiceless dead. 

Chained in their icy fetters to the deck. 
Some had died bending on their knees in prayer : 
And some there were still standing at the mast, 
Who, in the midst of terror and despair, 
Till the strong agony of death was past, 
Had done a, sailor's duty, — faithful to flie Last. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 329 

" God ! it was a strange, appalling scene ! 
Long icicles hung from their matted hair, 
And their distended eyeballs had grown green 
With the damp coat of slime that gathered 
there. 
Yet, in this hideous guise, their faces seemed 

Familiar as the friends of long ago ; 
And, as the awful truth upon me gleamed, 
"With a loud, frantic cry I rushed below, 
Seeking for what my palsied heart still feared to 
know. 

" That lonely cabin, — I can see it now, — 

And the still, rigid form that fixed my gaze, 
The gray locks clinging to his stony brow, 

Was the kind Mentor of my youthful days. 
Frozen ! above the blackened embers there 

I found that aged man, so dear to me, 
When in his little cot, all neat and fair, 

He told us wondrous legends of the sea ; 
But his fond child, my cherished love, where 
was she ? 



330 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

" Remembrance led me to her chamber door ! 
Long wreaths of moss had gathered on the 
sill; 
I dashed it open, — and beheld once more 
The form of her who was my idol still. 
There, on her downy conch, as if in Bleep, 
Was the fair being I had loved so well. 
My heart was bursting, yet I could not weep, 
But shrieked alond, ' Wake! wake! my own 
Estell ! ' 
And mocking on my ear the frenzied echo fell. 

" Stern death had left her beauty as a thing 

Too pure, too bright, too perfect, for decay : 
Toman'srongh form the mould and slime might 
cling, 

But she was lovely still, as on that day 
WTien we had wandered to the witch's cave. 

Ali ! little know we then of the strange doom 
That waited her Par o'er the ocean's w«\ 

A lily frozen in ii^ oarly bloom, — 
She was too heavenly to moulder in the tomb. 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 331 

" Her cheek and lip had lost their rosy hue, 

Yet I had often marked them grow as pale 
When the wild tempest-king his clarion blew, 

While she was watching for her father's sail. 
One icy drop from her long lashes hung ; 

It might have been the last and bitterest tear 
Which from her noble heart in death was wrung ; 

Yet not in dread, — she was too pure to fear, — 
Yet for one far away, who still in death was dear. 

" On her white breast the long, dark tresses 
lay, 
Luxuriant in their beauty as of yore ; 
She was still young, — I had grown old and 
gray. 
But hold ! — God ! I cannot tell thee more. 
I feel the burning frenzy on me now, 

Which in that fearful moment wrecked my 
brain ; 
The chord of madness tightened on my brow, — 
They bore me off, insensible to pain ; 
And, oh ! I never saw that angel form again. 



332 THE FROZEN SHIP 

" There, — now I am more calm. Years still 
sped on ; 
A fettered maniac, I at last grew tame ; 
And in the fitful light of reason's dawn, 

Thoughts of that lonely, frozen ship still 
came, 
For ever mournful as the winds that blow- 
In wailing gusts along the desert's sand ; 
But time at last has soothed the madman's 

woe ; 
And when Estell before me seems to stand, 
I rave no more, nor tear my hair with frenzied 
hand. 

" Those who had borne my senseless form away 

From the dim cabin of that fated bark, 
Have told me since a- story of the day 

Which left my shattered senses wild and 
dark. 
They said that when our sails once more wen- 
spread, 
Prom a strange scene of torror i<> depart, 



THE FROZEN SHIP. 666 

That frozen vessel, with its freight of dead, 
Floated again into the iceberg's heart, 
From whence, like a dark spectre, we had seen it 
start. 

" I have no ties ; and when that snn shall set 
Which pours the light of life into my soul, 
There are no cherished ones to feel regret, 
When, for my death, the funeral knell shall 
toll. 
But in my loneliness 't is sweet for me 

To think, while years and ages roll away, 
Through every time and every change, that 
she, 
My only love, unsullied by decay, 
Waits, in her icy tomb, eternity's long day." 

So thrillingly and so intensely sad 

Was the strange story of that shattered 
mind, 
I ceased to wonder why he should be mad ; 

Rejoiced within the ruin still to find, 



334 THE FROZEN SHIP. 

Like gems of beauty on a broken shrine, 

These memories of his fair and lost Estell, 
Which in the spotless urn of truth shall shine, 
Pure as the being he had loved so well, 
And bright as was that love, which he had wept 
to tell. 



THE END. 



Boston, 185 Washingto 
August, 1867. 

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